


Metamorphosis

by BirdRot



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Best Friends, Drug Abuse, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Laboratories, Mad Scientists, Mental Instability, Paranoia, Partners in Crime, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Reader-Insert, Recovery, Science, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Spiders, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-01-06 21:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdRot/pseuds/BirdRot
Summary: An old professor of yours always said insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. You'd been trying not to think aboutitfor seven years. Still, you pulled out your hair in clumps and slept with furniture pressed against the door. In a last ditch attempt to not be useless, you threw yourself into your university work, and by dumb luck found a subject that interested you and a lab partner who didn't care you slept in the office four nights of the week.A bachelors and a masters later, a letter comes in the post offering a research opportunity and a chance to shed your old skin. Looking to disappear, you accept, but what's done in the dark will always be brought into the light eventually.Whether you're ready or not is a completely different question.





	1. Instar

The letter hadn’t looked special, sat jumbled amongst take-away menus and bills you paid online before the post even reached you. It was a darker, murkier shade of brown, and the envelope heavier than usual, but small differences like that were easily missed in your pre-coffee morning fog. There were more important things to do, like watering your plants, or putting out birdseed for the robins nesting in the hedgerow. Once the essentials were done, you’d settled down at the kitchen table. As the kettle rumbled away, you sifted through the post, tossing most straight into the recycling. 

Maybe you’d’ve thrown it away with the rest had the kettle not clicked at that precise moment. The sound snapped you awake, and just as the letter slipped between your fingers, you saw it.

The Delta Rune.

Really, your scramble through the bin was understandable. It'd been three years since the mountain trembled, finally opening with a crack that could be heard for more than 50 miles away and contact between monsters and humans beyond sightseeing was rare. Hell, you couldn’t blame them- if their scarred skin and hulking frames were anything to go by, it was far from easy down there.

Still, you were too busy with your own work to focus on monster-human relations. Insects to watch, plants to grow, the good stuff.

Fully focused, you slipped the envelope open carefully, ignoring the trembling in your hands.

_Good day._

_The recent work of yours and Miss Lazarov’s is of great interest to us. We understand that the human scientific councils are rather stringent when it comes to implementing genetically modified species into the population, so we hope our offer comes in good time._

_Under the Royal Scientist’s approval, we offer you and Miss Lazarov accommodation and a laboratory in Newest Home to continue your research. Conditions of your stay and your payment will be discussed in further communications if you are interested.  
We look forward to hearing from you._

_From the office of Monster-Human Scientific Collaboration._

“Holy _shit_.”

Almost falling over your chair, you raced into your bedroom and impatiently waited for the phone to turn on. It seemed to torture you, the way the usual logos flashed on the screen when you needed to call Violeta right fucking now and see whether it was all some huge prank.

Your hands were shaking so badly it took you several tries to find your research partner in your contacts. It was an hour ahead in Gabrovo from Limoges, so even she would be awake. The phone barely rang once before the familiar voice on the other end started yelling.

“Did you get the letter too?” It demanded, "I didn't want to call in case you were asleep."

“Yes! Holy shit, what is going on?”

“Our research is fantastic, that’s what’s going on. _Not now Ally you can get your treat later_ -“

There was a whine, then the diminishing sound of claws clicking on carpet. Obviously you’d been rude enough to interrupt some crucial dog event that must be attended to. 

Finally, you sat down, free hand clutching at your pillow and bringing it to your chest, “But… Newest Home, Violeta. Nobody… are humans even allowed there? I know monsters have been spreading out, but I thought that was still their city, you know?”

“Well, if we’re the first non-government officials there, even better. We’ll go over, do our research, end world hunger, and then get smoothies.”

“I do love a good smoothie,” you agreed, “Like the lychee and mango ones from that café near the old lab?”

“Oh my god yes, those were a gift from Jesus himse- WAIT, now is not smoothie time!” She slammed her hand down on something.

You tried not to giggle, but the hysteria of the whole situation was getting to you, “Pretty rude of you to assume I don’t have a smoothie IV in me right now.”

“That would be something you’d do, you filthy vegan.”

Violeta went quiet for a moment, and after a dull rattle and an excited bark, you assumed she was giving her dog a treat. She was strong, and intelligent enough to throw a tantrum, so a little appeasement was needed now and then.

You read the letter again, still in shock. Although the shaking had subsided, your heart still fluttered strangely in your chest. Slowly, as not to make a noise, you lay back on the bed and pretended the numb, prickly feeling in your fingers wasn’t there.

The calendar hanging next to your pillow was crammed with notes in dozens of different pens, stickers highlighting important appointments and meetings. Your two weekly therapy sessions were marked with stars, and at the end of every day you’d make a differently coloured dot depending on productivity. For 11 days now, there was a line of red that made your stomach twist anxiously.

You could never switch off.

Susanna was the best therapist you’d had since you were a teenager. Sharp, witty, and relatable enough to get exactly what information she wanted from you, so you took her advice seriously. The fact you were at home in Limoges and your research partner was in Gabrovo was down to her. If you had your way you’d still be in Edinburgh researching.

Even then, you were cheating, applying for funding and translating articles for a fee. Could you even handle the pressure of what could easily be the biggest moment of your career? This was quite literally a once in a lifetime chance- sure, your work may be promising, but it was dumb luck that they’d decided it interesting enough to bother bringing you over. Your refusal would only make them shrug and pick somebody else. Or, worst case scenario, they take offence that you grabbed their olive branch and snapped it in half.

Plus… it was true, there was a lot of resistance to GM crops, even now with the global food crisis. The uproar caused by the monsters’ arrival coupled with all the new mouths to feed had only exacerbated shortages of basic subsistence crops like rice, wheat, and bananas. Agricultural scientists were stuck between a rock and a hard place- the population was expanding, and unless everyone shifted to a vegan diet overnight, more and more resources would result in diminishing returns. Water and land space aside, seeing the effect pesticides had on the environment most were now widely banned…

And you were happy about that! Really! But hessian flies and potato cyst nematodes and every other crop pest that existed were ecstatic. You’d thought that the emergence of literal monsters would allow some genetic manipulation to sneak by undetected, but the regulations became even more rigorous. Even with your promise of genetically altering your plants into infertility so the planned mutation couldn’t spread, it was borderline impossible to find a research centre willing to invest when fucking magic was possible, and admittedly a much more interesting topic.

“We need,” you replied, slowly, “To think about this. Very carefully.”

You heard a snort down the phone, “Huh? Yeah, think about what to pack. Wait, Alma, you’re not really considering not going, are you?”

“I didn’t say that-“

“If that’s a joke, it’s not funny,” she hissed. 

“I’m just saying, Violeta,” you replied, “That we need to think. It’s a whole new language with a new alphabet there aren’t many resources for learning, it’s a completely different currency, and if we felt like we stuck out in England imagine what it’ll be like there.”

You could almost hear her rolling her eyes, “You’re jumping the gun a bit, Almy, it’s just asking if we’re interested.”

“We _are_ interested,” you murmur, looking over the letter again.

“Aaaaaand,” she continued, her voice sweeter than honey, “You can just have a phone session with your doctor and see what they think, right?”

Susanna did offer that service…

You had to take it.

How could you sleep knowing you skipped out on this, an opportunity scientists all around the world would kill for?

“Okay,” you sighed, “Shall you call or shall I?”

……

The proceeding weeks were a whirlwind of paperwork and packing and takeaways you ordered and let go cold as more important things caught your attention. Admittedly, you were shaking as you sent off that first email enquiring about the conditions of this offer. Monsters or not, there was no such thing as a free lunch, and this was a little too good to be true.

According to the voice (they never told you their name) two one-bed flats had been found in the same building about a twenty minute walk to the Newest Home Centre of Scientific Research. There were rooftop greenhouses where you could test the effectiveness of the manipulation, and laboratories stuffed with equipment you’d have to share with eight others in previous placements.

But, and it was considerable, you would stay until you found what you needed or five years had lapsed. No leaving, at all, not even to visit family. After Violeta threw what you could only describe as a bitch fit, they granted permission for two escorted visits into Newest Home from one outsider each.

She called it barbaric, but she was so far in nothing could sway her otherwise. It was... different, but you understood. It was a huge gamble on their part as well, especially since the monsters’ scientific prowess was a huge source of pride. However, the monsters insisted you keep your presence there a secret, that you told nobody. Not until you were successful. According to your friends and family, Violeta and yourself had returned to England for interviews and then a research placement.

Monsters were fair. They rewarded the best. Hopefully, you and Violeta were the best.

Honestly, it felt wrong, so very instinctively wrong. Whenever you looked at the letters on your desk or checked your email you felt sick to your stomach. But you couldn’t let Violeta down. She deserved the opportunity, and she’d made it perfectly clear that the research would only get published if you were the one staying up until 6am looking for aphids with her. So, despite continuing nightmares of claws and teeth and darkened hallways that stretched on forever…

You accepted. 

……

There was practically an echo when you dropped the hulking box on the new desk- your new desk. Whoever had occupied the office before you left it completely empty, and while you would’ve complained if there was crap to clean up, seeing somewhere so sterile was unsettling. Scientists were as messy as anyone else, and some of their more ‘niche’ interests weren’t fun to scrape off surfaces. 

Maybe that’s what real research was- having somebody scrape the desks before you even arrived.

The main focus of your research, alongside whatever crop you decided to finalise your work on (you and Violeta flopped frequently between maize and wheat) was…

She was looking at you, her big eyes shining like morning dew. _Phiddipus audax_ , the daring jumping spider. Inside her tiny little fangs was what could reduce wheat pest-losses and make you a decent living. The one and only franken-plant sat on the windowsill, leaves green and healthy and entirely unbothered by five out of seven major pest species when exposed. Coursing through their phloem was venom churned up by the plant’s own molecular machinery, and who provided them with the blueprint but-

“Door!” 

The handle rattled pathetically, snapping you out of your stupor. It was still jiggling impatiently when you finally opened it, although the perpetrator was hidden behind the stack of boxes balanced precariously on one arm. Narrowly avoiding the boxes stacked on the floor, your research partner dumped the books on her end of the L-shaped desk, rubbing her forearms.

“Didn’t want to make that extra trip,” she huffed, bending over to rummage in one of the boxes. After a moment, a well-loved kettle, ceramic box, and two mugs were deposited on the table

While Violeta ventured out to get water, you began the satisfying task of lining up a ridiculously large number of books considering how niche your study area was. You were just debating whether it would be better to organise by topic or by author when she returned, humming some song about fat hippos under her breath.

Just seeing her brought a smile on your face, “How long?”

“The song?” She clicked the kettle on, “I listened to it for four hours straight on the plane over.”

“Jesus Christ,” You laughed, standing down from the bookcase to dump a teabag in her mug and coffee in yours. That hippo-infected mind was behind the genetics process of your research, isolating the venom-producing coding in the spider genome and then replicating and transferring it into the plant. It was fiddly, difficult work, and her patience was unparalleled, which… was hard to believe considering what she’d do to save time in her real life.

After the drinks were made you dissolved into idle chatter, lining up photos alongside the heavy tomes. Soon, if you said so yourself, it felt just like your old office in Edinburgh, just cleaner and with more plug sockets. By the time you remembered your coffee it was almost cold.

“Well, cheers to us,” Violeta grinned, clinking her mug against yours before tossing the lukewarm tea back, “And whatever fat cheque the Nobel Prize Committee will write us in… 18 months!”

“As if they’d give us anything with that video of you using a centrifuge to separate the pulp from your orange juice.”

“Yeah, that’s what jealousy does to people-“

Cackling, you downed the dregs of your cold coffee back before putting the mug on the desk. You'd wasted enough time, and there was important business to attend to. Dramatically, you whipped around to face Violeta.

“I want to see him,” she said, somehow sounding reverent despite how clearly she was trying not to laugh.

You quirked an eyebrow but turned all the same. It never changed- if it did the power wouldn’t work. Slowly, you reached into a box purposefully left untouched. It was covered in stickers declaring its fragility, its importance.

“Who?”

“I want to see my little boy.”

He was too big to hold in your hands. Instead, you wrapped his form around your neck like a feather boa, “Here he comes.”

Her voice was going into the ‘outdoor’ range, “I want to see MY LITTLE BOY.”

Like a priest coronating the new monarch, you placed Lubomir the long furby on the tiny office chair you’d found at a car boot sale and reupholstered. He was long, six feet long, and even when coiled like a snake he couldn’t fit entirely on his throne.

Violeta let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Magnificent…”

True, he was a fine specimen. It had taken you an entire day to hand sew him. When looking around a car boot sale you’d found a bag of old teddy-bear eyes, so Lubomir was quickly turned into Lubomir the ‘all seeing’… and a draught excluder when it got too chilly. After many nights sleeping in the office, you could confirm he was long enough to function as a pillow _and_ cover most of your torso to keep you warm.

Most importantly, he was your good luck token, the one who kept the machines running and the scales accurate. 

The knock at the door was so sudden you yelped, whirling around to face whoever was there.

“Ah, hello!” Violeta squawked, “We didn’t see you there! How are you? The mate? The kids?”

In all fairness, the deer monster looked as disturbed as could be expected, “…Just thought I’d let you know I was heading out, so you’ll have to leave through the staff exit in the back instead of the front door.”

He was only a receptionist, but still towered over you at 2 metres tall. His left antler had snapped long ago, and the right seemed to compensate by growing dozens of sharp branches that you could only guess had been the source of the scratched ceiling in the hallway.

“Thank you,” you smiled, trying to step in front of Lubomir.

Nodding once, the monster straightened up and headed down the hall. In the embarrassed silence, you could hear him mutter-

“ _Humans_ …”

The silence continued for two beats before yourself and Violeta burst out into hysterics.

……  
You wanted to stay in the lab, rearrange the books until you were so exhausted you physically couldn’t keep your eyes open, but it wouldn’t be fair to make Violeta walk home alone. It was a new neighbourhood, and despite her assurances that she was ‘a master of all languages’, the street signs took a good minute for you to decode together. Hoping the streets didn’t look drastically different at night from dawn, you set off, skittishly dodging into doorways and alleys whenever the sound of laughter drew too close.

She was practically sleepwalking by the time you made it to the building after getting lost twice. After finding her floor, you quietly reminded her to set her alarm and sleep well. Violeta mumbled a goodbye in Bulgarian, already popping her contact lenses into her hand as she turned down the hallway to her own flat. Two flights of stairs and you were at your own home.

There was a tiny bathroom with all the ‘human necessities’ a kitchenette, and a living-sleeping space. Your bed took up most of it, with a bedside table closest to the front door and a bookshelf underneath the window. 

Methodically, you checked each room twice before setting your alarm clock and clambering into the cold bedding. You’d take Lubomir home nightly to hold onto if he wasn’t busy guarding the machinery. 

You hated sleep.

No, that wasn’t true. Even with the nightmares, sleep was tolerable.

It was the preamble, lying there in the dark, holding your breath in case that door was to open, in case a hand peeled back the bedding and the mattress shifted towards a foreign weight. 

Not even bothering to turn the lights back on, you pushed the sturdy little bedside table in front of the front door, double checked the lock, and looked through the rooms again. It just seemed… wrong? In fairness, monsters had had barely any contact with human dwellings, but everything was that little bit off. The taps in the bathroom had old fashioned knobs, but were motion activated. In the kitchen, the oven light was ultramarine and the cabinets had very specific slots, shaped exactly like a garlic bulb or teabag.

After you couldn’t think of any more excuses, you slid into bed again, rubbing your feet together to generate a little warmth.

So far away from home, you felt smaller than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, and hopefully for everyone I'll be able to write more soon. Just in case anyone skimmed over the tags, you/Alma is a victim of sexual assault, and that theme will be explored in a depth that could trigger people. I will update the tags as I go along, and if I think a chapter is especially troubling I'll forewarn everyone at the start and write a catch-up at the beginning of the next one. 
> 
> A little bit of nice skeleton wish fulfilment never hurt anybody though :) This is heavily inspired by Potatochisp's (@potatochisssp on tumblr) swapfell interpretation, so head over if you like some quality characterisation! Thank you for reading.


	2. Arachnida

Although pre’s just meant having a sip of the homemade rakia she’d brought over in a water bottle, you were excited to go out. Well, shitting yourself nervous, but excited. 

You knew close to nothing about monster culture. Hell, you didn’t even know what they wore since everyone around you wore lab coats or a simple uniform. You had to head to the lab so early and leave so late that it was like a ghost town. It was how you preferred it, feeling like you didn’t exist at all. 

Even so, you’d been cooped up in the lab all week preparing assays and figuring out what the strange symbols on the thermal cycler. After arriving at the lab early on Friday, you worked quickly and left while the sun was still up. 

An abomination playlist of yours and Violeta’s music filtered through from the main room where she was trying to decide between 40 and 20 denier tights. You’d been watching the same plaiting tutorial for twenty minutes before accepting defeat and just wearing it down when Violeta’s muffled curses got too loud to ignore.

“Tights are DEMONS!” The wail of absolute anguish summoned you to the main room. Immediately, you cackled- she had one leg a pair of black tights, and the other in a very _very_ dark purple pair, and was looking at them despairingly. Her curled hair whipped dramatically when she heard your hysterics.

“How do you even do this fashion shit? They… they look so similar? But different? And then you have to add in the probability of laddering and the rate at which they’ll grow with movement. Wait, grab some paper, I need to get out of these tights.”

You passed over the rakia, “Calm down- the black will balance out the rest of your outfit, help not to make it too overwhelming.”

Her smile spread from ear to ear, “Genius!”

“I should’ve gone into sales,” you sighed, taking her tights and tucking them into your bag. Tights decided on, Violeta turned in front of the mirror and grinned.

“I look like a SNACK. Wait, can you take a picture of me? For Desi? She got me this skirt last winter and I need to prove I do wear stuff she gets me.”

Photos for Desislava, Violeta’s girlfriend back home, always required a good twenty minutes. You shifted the mess out of frame, _added_ some mess so that the room looked lived, like the magazines on show-home coffee tables, and held her desk lamp in one hand for lighting. You needed to make that sequined skirt shine, and Violeta’s perfectionism leaked out of the lab and into real life.

Tongue stuck out, you tried to get the perfect angle, “Okay, shift your leg a little… like 60°… aaand perfect. Vogue is calling.”

“Anything for my dearest fans,” Violeta grinned, scrolling through the twenty-plus photos you’d taken.

It was easy to forget where you were with the music and familiar smell of whatever homemade soap Desislava sent Violeta to wash her clothes with. Easy until you caught sight of the still unfamiliar script on the emergency protocol nailed to the door. 

Maybe you wouldn’t stick out? Maybe there were monsters that looked exactly like humans and you just hadn’t seen them on the news.

“Maybe we can wear one of those horse costumes from the pantomime,” you suggested, preening a little the mirror. There must be horses.

“Oh yeah, a very articulate horse talking to itself is practically every day.” 

“I don’t think we’re fluent enough to be considered ‘articulate’.”

“How would we open the doors? We’d have hooves?”

You shrugged, “Just run into it and pray it’s not a pull door?”

It was a miracle how you two survived into adulthood.

……

Even outside of the bar, you could hear the music within. The pink neon sign above the door confirmed what your undernet map had showed you. Winking on and off, there was a little line of ‘silk’ leading to a neon spider.

You already liked Muffet’s. 

Still, your hands curled into fists in your pockets. 

“Come on,” Violeta wound her arm around yours and all-but pulled her into the crowded pub, “Lets get absolutely fu-.”

“Fucked to a responsible level,” you corrected, but it still made you laugh. You scoped out the bar through the stained glass window before letting yourself and Violeta inside

Your mouth hung open. It was gorgeous.

The entire bar was lit exclusively with pink lighting. The tables and seats were covered with what you’d later coin as ‘aesthetic grandmother’ doilies and jars of what looked like pickled spiders. The entire ceiling was covered in what you’d only seen as photographs. Masses and masses of pearlescent spider webs almost concealed what you could only imagine were fairy lights but could be any manner of magic things. 

The lights weren’t the centrepiece though, at least not to you.

You grabbed Violeta’s hand, almost breathless, “Vi, _look_.”

Spiders of sizes varying from a ten pence piece to the size of your fist were carrying tiny silk bags from table to table. Ones that weren’t… working… were doing behaviours that would’ve made Charles Darwin resurrect and then die again from the shock. A particularly large one was knitting an eight-armed jumper with tiny little needles.

Luckily, everyone was so absorbed in their own conversations you had time to just gawk before wandering up to the bar.

The monster behind the bar, presumably Muffet herself, blinked all five eyes in surprise before grinning. Although she had mandibles, tiny white fangs glinted in the pink light. When she beckoned you closer with one hand, Violeta let you step forward.

“My my, how did two sweet little things like you end up in my parlour?” Her accent was soft, the ‘s’s coming out as a hushing sound, and her mandibles clicked for emphasis. Despite the pastels and her undeniably good etiquette, her stare was full of cold curiosity.

A scientist during a vivisection.

“We were invited to work at the Centre of Research,” you replied, trying not to let your voice tremor, “And now…”

“We’re thirsty!” Violeta cheerfully interjected, “And this looked like the best bar in town.”

Muffet leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand, “Now you’re speaking my language, dearies…. Now, what can I get you?” 

After you both stared at the board, dumbfounded, she giggled and began mixing and shaking and pressing buttons on some strange machine. Violeta watched, almost leaning over the counter to get a better look, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of the spiders. 

The drinks were placed on little doilies before you.

The most expensive in the house.

Muffet’s hands clasped together in delight when you slid the pile of gold across the table to her. Then it was your turn when dozens of spiders trouped across the table, picking up a piece each and disappearing inside a tiny little doorway.

“You like the spiders?”

Muffet’s voice was almost too soft to hear over the tapping of hundreds of little feet on the counter. No one spider was the same as another- even glancing over them you could see at least 35 genera. One had legs so long their feet tickled your arm as they passed by, a coin clutched in their chelicera. 

Sheepishly, you turned to her, “Oh, yes. Spiders are a big part of our research.”

Her eyes narrowed, and you quickly corrected yourself, “No, no, we don’t test on them! We use them for pest control you know, for agriculture.”

Seeing a window of opportunity, Violeta put the sparkling pink drink down on the counter and began to explain, gesturing in a manner that suggested the drink was deceptively strong.

“So, we get the information the spider uses to make venom, and we put it in the plant. It’s actually really damn cool- we use a bacteria vector, usually in the form of plasmids taken from _E.coli_ , and then use restriction enzymes to cut at the specific base pair sequence…”

As Violeta continued to explain, ‘drawing’ on the bar top with her finger, you sipped at your drink. It didn’t taste of alcohol at all- only parma violets and a hint of something slightly bitter, probably a monster flavour. Muffet was busy, hands cleaning glasses and rearranging bottles with a polite smile on her face.

You doubted she’d ask about your research again.

Her gestures got bigger and bigger, and her voice louder and louder as she got into minute detail regarding the exact enzymes used. Just as she took a deep breath, probably about to recite the base pair sequence in full, a deep voice cut through the chatter of the bar.

“Are those… humans?”

Suiting the deep, gravelly voice, the wolf-dog towered over you by a good few feet. He wore polished armour that practically shone in the pink light. His muzzle and face were criss-crossed with deep scars and one eye was milky white. The other, though, was completely focused on you.

“Paying customers, Dogamy~” Muffet chirped, swiping his empty glass, “Invited here by the RC*.”

He took a step forward, and despite his towering size Violeta didn’t shrink back at all.

“We have papers if you want to see them?” Violeta shrugged, pissed off that her lecture on genetic engineering was interrupted. 

You reached into your bag, past the tights and various other crap you accumulated, and pulled out the signed and sealed documents. Dogamy’s claws scratched across the bar top, and after a tense minute, he passed them back to you.

“Welcome to town. This,” he leaned back a bit, gesturing to the dogs sat behind him. One looked similar, but with softer features and bottom canines that poked up over their lip, “Is my _beautiful_ wife, Dogaressa.”

She raised a giant paw in greeting. You and Violeta waved back.

“And this is my _handsome_ husband, Dogamy.”

As soon as they locked eyes they began to snuggle enthusiastically. Around each of their necks were a collar, the attached lead in the other’s paw. You looked over to Vi, who just shrugged and licked the sugar off the rim of the cocktail glass.

Although you were sure Muffet would keep you safe- as long as you paid- you quickly passed your half-finished drink to Vi. It was delicious, but the alcohol was already making your head feel all fuzzy inside. 

A little spider came to collect your doily-coaster, and you leaned down to get a closer look.

It was small, around the size of a ping pong ball, and each of it’s six eyes had three pupils forming the corners of a triangle. You could only imagine what the evolutionary scientists were thinking- with such a different (what they cautiously called) metabolism, the monster species’ must have evolved away from non-monster animals and plants over a billion years ago.

And then, assuming it was true, the monsters had adapted to the same ecological niches in the exact same way. How else could this little spider look so much like what you’d spent three years studying?

Violeta watched you, cautiously tugging on your arm, “Come on, lets go before you kidnap one of the waitstaff.”

“Au revoir, ma petite araignée*,” you whispered reluctantly, only just remembering to wave goodbye to your new ‘friends’ before the doors swung shut behind you.

…..

Now the relatively simple task of finding your way home (while slightly buzzed yourself) was accomplished, the hard part began.

Violeta was sprawled out across the floor, clutching a photograph of her girlfriend against her chest. Occasionally she would look down at it, sneak a furtive glance at you, then grin. You let her be in love for a little- it was cute after all- but it was getting late. 

Desislava’s first impression hadn’t been the best. Exhausted, you’d crawled under the desk in your office for a well-deserved nap, pulling the office chair towards you for camouflage. The giggling just didn’t register for whatever reason, and you were still dozing when the office door opened and slammed shut. Desk creaking above you, you did the completely normal and rational thing and grabbed at the unidentified ankle.

Needless to say, neither yourself nor Violeta had a fun time explaining why there was a full minute of screaming and hysterics to the senior researcher. At least it was funny looking back…  
“I want her… HER… to be my fiancé,” Violeta said somberly, lifting up the photograph to kiss Desislava on the forehead, “Nothing between us.”

“Maybe you should propose?”

The glare she shot you would’ve made a weaker person tremble. 

“Unless you have a PRIVATE PLANE TO FLY ME TO BULGARIA RIGHT NOW… it will have to wait.”

At least you’d be exhausted before you got into bed.

“Come on, time to say goodnight,” you coaxed, stepping over the coat and scarf she’d shed as soon as she stepped through the door. Immediately, Violeta held the photo frame closer to her chest.

“I don’t know if you can add, Almy, but it’s MORNING in Sofia. She’s awake.”

“Probably getting ready for work then,” you countered, creeping closer and closer, “And you need to be ready for work tomorrow. Think of all the cool fossils you can buy her when we publish our paper.”

She sceptically looked between you and the photograph, uncurling slightly, “Rocks won’t keep her warm at night. Rocks are cold… unless they’ve been in the SUN, which is UP AND IN THE SKY IN SOFIA.”

“What if it’s cloudy.”

Violeta gasped, “She must be so cold…”

“I know,” you peeled back the duvet on her bed, “You can both get into bed and stay warm.”

Although watching Violeta army crawl with one arm (she had to hold the photograph after all) was funny, you were glad when she rolled herself into bed. Carefully, she put the photograph on the pillow beside her so the duvet covered up to her girlfriend’s neck when you pulled the duvet over then.

It was like a flicked switch. One moment Violeta was awake, and the next she was practically snoring. Quietly stepping over the get-ready mess, you poured her a glass of water and left it on the bedside table. No paracetamol though. It was obvious now, but in the rush of packing neither of you had thought about the lack of certain human provisions.

“Those care packages better be coming quick,” you whispered to yourself, although you knew from past experience that waking Violeta up after a night out was a Herculean feat.

Keeping a good distance away from her, you stayed perched on her bed and listened to her quiet, rhythmic snores.

Back in Limoges, it felt like you were in a bubble. It wasn’t anybody else’s fault- it was all you. You weren’t interesting or funny, all you did was study and go home to cry when a stranger stood too close to you on the bus. Even when you got a bit better, your friendships were shallow.

People drifted off and you didn’t stop them.

Violeta practically shone. She made no apologies for laughing too loud or being too blunt when somebody said something stupid. The first time you let yourself be distracted in the library, she proudly proclaimed that she always got what she wanted.

And she wanted to be your friend, apparently. 

You’d even fallen asleep in her room once, awaking with a start. All you could remember was dancing in a grimy club, then locking yourself in the disabled toilet to cry because somebody was wearing that fucking perfume. Immediately, your mind raced to make up an excuse, anything to stop Violeta knowing how gross you were. The teasing smile she shot over her shoulder, obviously writing up the statistics you’d calculated earlier, sealed the deal.

She’d looked after you. 

You’d look after her.

Equilibrium.

Softly, you stepped over the clothes she’d shed on her way in and checked the flat for intruders. Satisfied, you locked the door and slipped the key back under it. The

You felt like an eleven year old in a zany boarding school adventure, sneaking down from your friend’s room to your own. Honestly, it was pure dumb luck that you hadn’t bumped into anyone in the corridor, but you deserved some good fortune.

The flat was empty, you made sure, but as you laid yourself down in your bed you almost froze up with fear. Somebody was looking at you. 

s o m e b o d y w a s i n t h e f l a t a n d l o o k i n g a t y o u

Heart already pounding, you shot up. You’d checked the rooms. There was nobody hiding under the sink or squeezed into the wardrobe. You had work the next day and you needed to calm the fuck down.

Next day- was it even the next day? What time was it? Squinting at your phone, you checked the time and sighed. God, you were a fucking munter.

 _2:17am_???

You had to be at the lab at 7:30am and stay until 8pm. This was bad news for your already sleep deprived ass. 

After an hour of tossing and turning, of padding around the flat looking for whatever was keeping you awake, you made a fucking moronic decision.

Quickly, you brushed your teeth, got dressed, and packed your work bag. Yeah, you’d get a head start on the work, set the assays that needed to rest for a few hours out, and then sleep in the lab. Lubomir was a fine, multipurpose long furby, he’d keep you safe.

And god, you needed to feel safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Abbreviation for 'Research Council'  
> *Goodbye, my little spider.
> 
> Hi everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know it wasn't the most exciting, but hey, who doesn't like descriptions of aesthetically pleasing places?
> 
> In my lil imagining of post-surface society, monsters are allowed free travel across the globe without Visas/immigration documentation etc, but their home city is very private. They have a tiny population and do worry about their culture being erased, even unintentionally, by humans. On a more defensive note, there can't be human spies... if you never let any humans in.
> 
> Probably why they chose those two goobers.


	3. Fructose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a dream sequence with very very vague implied sexual assault. It's the block in italics, and it's not completely essential for the plot, so please skip past it if that material makes you uncomfortable.

You’d spent a good two hours preparing the assays, and finally put them in the water bath to process for three hours. Still, it was early enough to assume nobody else would be in the lab, so you allowed yourself a cheeky cup of tea in the break room instead of the office.

Now, in all fairness, you didn’t turn the lights on because you didn’t want to waste energy, and the dull orange glow from the streetlights outside was easier on the eyes. So, when the Royal Scientist came in and flicked the light on, revealing your goblin self scarfing biscuits, all you saw was a hulking form with claws like nails and a dull, dangling esca.

“FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFNNNNNnnn hello!” You managed, putting the rich teas back in the tin as covertly as you could manage. The hairs on your neck stood up, eyes wide- some ancient instinct inside of you was telling you to run.

She (that was assuming that, like real anglerfish, only female monsters had lures) was over seven feet tall stopped and smelled strongly of sea salt. Her pupils were near-invisible in the light, obviously adapted for much darker environments than the harsh fluorescent lighting in the lab.

“You’re one of those human biologists.”

No question there.

You couldn’t quite manage to speak, so you just nodded.

She smiled with yellow, needle-like teeth, “Understandable, biology is fascinating. Whenever one of your kind fell through the mountain I always had such fun… figuring them out. I’d keep them pickled to look at, but it was never like that first introduction.”

Nodding, you tried to keep your cool and not piss yourself right then and there, “Yes, it’s very interesting, uh, very diverse.”

Her golden eyes flickered down to your name-tag.

“I’ll call you S1,” she said simply, striding past you to flick the kettle on again. From the side you could see how large her eyes were in her skull, swivelling independently as she picked the sea tea from the cupboard, “And you can call me Royal Scientist Undyne.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Royal Scientist Undyne.”

Undyne glanced at you from over her shoulder, “I hope you’re more impressive than the other scientists I’ve spoken to. All so weak, so unwilling to test the boundaries of what science already knows. My mentor’s dust would be blowing in the wind as we speak if they had to deal with the lack of ambition here.”

God, you had no idea what to do, what to say. After the kettle clicked, Undyne poured the hot water into her mug and leaned back against the counter, claws tapping against the cabinets.

“I personally wanted to deal with physicists, with, ah, nuclear power isn’t it? I’ll give your kind that, the ingenuity of finding an energy source close to magic in concentration was impressive. And how you use it against one another! So blind to the obvious repercussions- not that you would’ve stopped it anyway, would you? Again,” she motioned between the two of you, “Something that your kind and myself have in common.”

“The man who decided that died over fifty years ago, and no nuclear weapons have been used since. I don’t think anyone wants them used again," You frowned FOOLISHLY.

Her laugh sounded like pennies rattling in a piggy bank, harsh and metallic, “Maybe you don’t. You’re soft. Let’s not pretend that your rulers were _this_ close to pushing that big red button when we finally escaped the prison you put us in.”

“That was wrong of us,” you said carefully. Slowly, you started your escape to the door, sliding over inch by inch.

“If half of us hadn’t been dusted from sun exposure,” Undyne smiled darkly, “We wouldn’t be the ones marching back up that mountain.”

Again, you froze, and your muscles refused to cooperate even as your brain screamed at you to run.

Her eyes were manic, pupils blowing wide as they focused on you, “Good thing that’s all behind us, right?”

You couldn’t even look her in the eye, so you stared at her neck instead. It was covered in the same thick, aquamarine scales as the rest of her, but deep gashes across her neck exposed pink skin. 

That wasn’t what caught your eye though. 

Looking completely out of place, a mustard yellow lace choker rested daintily near the junction where her shoulders met her neck. A little upside-down heart you were pretty sure represented a monster soul dangled from it.

Having sufficiently scared you, Undyne backed away and sipped at her sea tea, still staring at you with her big yellow eyes. They matched her choker- was that on purpose? Was colour coordinating a big thing for monster fashion?

You’d have to look it up later.

You glanced up at the clock and announced, “Oh, my assays need calibrating. It was nice to meet you, Royal Scientist Undyne.”

"Of course you do."

She grinned and watched unblinking as you walked out of the break room.

LOOKS LIKE YOU’D BE STAYING IN YOUR OFFICE FROM NOW ON.

Feeling like you’d aged twenty years in twenty minutes, you shakily locked the door behind you and just collapsed onto the floor. After reaching around blindly and dragging Lubomir onto the ground with you, you tucked yourself into the space beneath your desk and tried to relax. After a moment of shuffling, you got up and jammed Vi’s office chairs under the handle, and finally let yourself slip into sleep.

_Your footsteps echoed along the hallway._

_It was covered in the cheap, thin carpet you always saw in university accommodation and schools, and the familiar smell of old paper grew stronger and stronger each step you took. What you thought were doors lining this ever-lasting corridor were more like plain blocks of wood with no handles or features to suggest otherwise._

_You were in your old secondary school. You were late to your lesson._

_It felt like you were running forever when you reached the end of the corridor. You had to slow down- the thousands of lazy bluebottles buzzing from under the end door made it difficult to see. Every step you took made a sick wet crunching sound which made you wretch._

_So close._

_Finally, after sweeping the flies away from the peephole long enough to look through it, you peered into your classroom._

_A double bed in the middle of the room._

_Someone sleeping._

_Not willing to take your eye away from the peephole, you searched for a door handle fruitlessly, cringing as thousands of flies crawled and nibbles and scratched at your fingers. There were gloves in your pocket, you knew that, but you couldn’t take your hands off of the wood.  
A figure appeared from the right side of the room, slowly. _

_Stalking._

_Your hands were stuck to the door; you couldn’t pound on it to wake the girl up. Every time you tried to lift your hands more and more flies would pile on top of them, your panic no match for their combined weight.  
As soon as you opened your mouth to yell, the flies flocked from the floor. They crawled in your ears, up your nose, down your throat, choking every possible noise you could make. All you could hear was the sick, frantic buzzing of their wings painfully close to your eardrums. _

_The figure peeled the duvet off the sleeping girl._

_She didn’t stir._

You shot up, smacking your head against the bottom of the desk and ricocheting back painfully onto the floor. Your leg was dead from lying on it, and Lubomir watched as you painfully wriggled out from under the desk. Violeta, who’d been lethargically tapping away on something, raised an eyebrow as you rolled onto your back.

“Have a nice nap?”

“Oh yeah, I love giving myself concussions, a bit of a daily ritual for me,” you groaned, slowly standing. Your vision blurred and then focused again. Luckily, Violeta looked just as dead as you, and the smell of coffee was enough to make you forget about your dream. 

Vi snorted, “Okay Miss Cranky, get some caffeine and then we can start on the stains- thanks for starting them by the way.”

You shrugged, “No worries. It wasn’t that complicated, at least not when you’ve been doing them for years.”

Carefully, you rearranged Lubomir on his little office chair. He looked pleased- you liked to think he enjoyed the naps as much as you did. Even furbies need company. 

“Wait, can you look up something on the internet?”

“Undernet,” Violeta corrected.

“Yeah, the undernet. Have you noticed how many monsters wear collars? Is that just a fashion thing?”

Violeta tapped away and scrolled before clicking on what looked reasonable.

She frowned, focusing hard to translate such a large block of text, “Well, here it says that they’re a kinda protection thing? Like, if a monster is collared it means that another monster is looking out for them. There’s different kinds too.”

“For different kinds of relationships?” You perched on the desk next to her computer.

“Uh huh…. So the more delicate ones are for personal, romantic relationships, pretty much like wedding rings for humans. Chunkier collars made of leather are professional or familial relationships, and proper metal ones are for…” Violeta grimaced, “’Non-consensual’ relationships’? Like slaves and shit?”

“In fairness, I haven’t seen any like that, only lace ones.”

Violeta scrolled lazily through photographs and advertisements of different collaring services, “Yeah? At Muffet’s?”

“No actually, the Royal Scientist was wearing one.”

“YOU MET THE ROYAL SCIENTIST?”

“Oh shit yeah, I forgot to mention.”

“WHEN? WHERE? CAN THEY HEAR US NOW?”

You glanced over at the door- who knew how keen their hearing was.

You replied in a whisper, “I went to the break room at 4:30am. She came in and told me she pickled people, and then called me a soft human? Maybe that means I’m bad for pickling? And then she started talking about Nagisaki and Hiroshima and calling us stupid, but stupid in a mean way.”

“Okay, so pickling, nuclear weapons, and humans being stupid. What did she look like?” Violeta's eyes darted back and forth between yourself and the door.

“Like a fish. She had a bad hunch, and a lure like an angler fish. You’ll know when you see her, believe me.”

She shivered lightly, “Lets keep that locked then. God, did she say anything else? Does she like our research at least?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know how much she cares? I suppose monsters don’t need to worry about the food crisis since they subsist on something else entirely.”

Violeta rubbed the heels of her palms hard into her eyes, “Christ almighty. What have we gotten ourselves into?”

An opportunity. That was all.

You patted her on the back, “Come on, we have staining to do. Lets hope the cells have taken up the plasmid.”

Downing the last dregs of your coffee, you and Violeta left the safety of your office and headed down to the bowels of the research centre. 

…..

 

Even though you’d gone out the night before, you felt you deserved a treat after the near heart attack you’d had earlier. Even with the assays prepared prior, you were shaking for so long after you only got out an hour earlier than usual. As a thanks for coming in early, Violeta volunteered to re-sterilise the benches and meet you back at home. The sky was a dull blue, the air crisp, and in the distance, you could hear the noisy calling of a rook. Phone out, you managed to make your way to the bakery the Royal Scientist had recommended.  
It was sandwiched between a boutique and a tailor’s in a richer part of town, where hot air constantly rose through vents in the street. Instead of the magic and non-magic temperate plants that filled flower beds and gardens in ‘your’ end of the city, cacti and succulents peppered the streets.   
As soon as the door opened a wave of heat pushed your hair back and made your throat dry. It was obvious as to why- manning the counter was what looked like a literal bonfire. The flames licked harmlessly at the ceiling, and with how bright it was you found it painful to look at it for too long. 

“Good evening,” you said, trying to be polite. It wasn’t their fault you had weak human eyes.

You thought the crackle distorted slightly, so you stepped forward to look at the pastries in the display. They were all immaculate, presumably magic since none of them showed signs of melting despite the heat. 

“Are any of these, uh, vegan? No animal products?” Was veganism even a thing when every food was just made of magic? Was magic vegan? Had you already broken your streak at Muffet’s?

You risked a glance upwards and managed to catch a flat area of light, presumable from the flames reflecting off glasses or a monocle. A long, thin finger pointed towards the front of the display at a cup of candied petals and sugared fruits. 

“Oh, could I have that please?” You fished around in your bag for your purse, too occupied to register the door opening. 

As you reached across the counter, a stray ember flicked away from their hand onto yours. You flinched back, dropping the coins on the counter with a clatter, and sending the dessert over the side and towards the immaculate floor. 

_Why are we still here? Just to suffer?_

The wave of disappointment and embarrassment had already washed over you by the time a pair of skeletal hands appeared seemingly from nowhere, saving the cup from smashing across the floor. 

You looked quickly between the stranger and the owner, not sure who to apologise to first, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Well, thank you! But really, I didn’t mean to drop anything it was just a reflex-“

Chuckling, you managed to catch the owner shaking his head. Okay, one down.

“Thank you for catching that.”

Not being short yourself, you still had to tilt your head back to see the monster’s face. They were easily eight feet tall, probably more given your forced perspective, but that was hardly shocking given the fact they were a literal skeleton.

Well, not exactly like a human skeleton, you knew enough about human anatomy that glowing lights in pace of pupils was hardly _Homo sapien_ , and they didn’t have distinct teeth. Instead, the jaw bone (could you even call it that?) shaped into sharp teeth, one on the left side of his jaw replaced by a golden fang.   
A thick, leaver collar hung around his neck. It was hard to imagine somebody so scary looking needing protection by anyone else.

In complete contrast, their voice was… unsure? Deep, a little gravelly, but not completely confident, like you might snap at them.

“Oh, it’s n’problem. Grillbz makes good sugar fruits, it’d be a shame to waste ‘em.”

He handed you the cup back, and after a moment of thought, you plucked the sugared peach and two strawberries out of the cup and held them out. His eye-lights flickered between your face and the sweets, unsure.

“Thanks, for saving them.”

Finally, he held his hand out again, and you deposited the sugary treats before sliding your bag to your chest and putting them out of your clumsy hands.

“Have a good evening,” you called to the shopkeeper before the door slipped shut.

Your hands tasted of sugar and the vents were emitting a soft orange glow from what you later learned was the magma circulating under this portion of the city to keep it hot. Even your feet aching from the long walk to the bakery didn’t dampen your spirits when the promise of hot tea and sweets beckoned you home?

How could you think about nightmares and veiled threats with such pleasant distractions?

You simple creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, let me know if you enjoyed this chapter in the comments. It's a little shorter than I'd like but I'm not doing so well at the moment. Have a nice day biscuits.


	4. Foraging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some explicit mentions of hair pulling and skin picking as a coping mechanism. I've put it between two bold asterisks, so avoid that little segment if that is triggering to you.

“These are really good, Violeta commented, licking the stray sugar from her fingers.

You shot her a look, and she obediently went to wash her hands. You were the first to admit you were a clean freak, but sticky fingers were gross universally.

“I know, I’ll have to head back to that bakery. And, the walk is quite nice,” you treated yourself to the last of the candied violets, sinking back against the bed. You felt… listless.

“Maybe he makes madeleines? That would be nice.”

“Ooh, or some baklava. With some honey and fresh berries,” Violeta suggested, returning clean-handed from the bathroom.

You toyed with the edge of your duvet, “Or some pain au raisin…”

It’d been so hectic you’d hardly had time to be homesick. Now, with the taste of candied violets on your tongue, you allowed yourself a melancholy moment.

“What would you do if you were home?” You asked.

“Go and see the castle in Veliko Tarnovo, help Mum make jam… Probably go and stay in the mountains for a few days,” she snorted, “Listen to the hum of the illegal logging echo through the valley.”

You giggled, “A real Bulgarian wilderness sound right there.”

“And you?” Violeta curled a messy plait around her finger, “What would you do if somebody teleported you home right now?”

“Probably visit the cathedral, do the walk that goes past my old house and primary school with the trees lining the road. Then I’d have a coffee somewhere sunny, bring a poetry book so I looked well read and the owners wouldn’t kick me out for asking for oat milk.”

“Dreams.”

You both laid there, wistful, before Violeta smacked her hand down on the duvet, “We need to cook! Sugared plums are not a whole meal.”

“But it’s fruuuit,” you groaned, shoving weakly at her, “And I don’t know if I have the brain cells necessary to think of something to cook.”

“Do you want me to cook?”

“Alright, alright, Jesus,” you sat up, rubbing your hands over your eyes. While you were vulnerable, Violeta shoved you back onto the bed.

“Hey, my cooking is great! What was that supposed to mean?”

The teasing grin came out full force, “It’s not the cooking- you’re good at cooking- but if I have to clean up after you I won’t be able to come to the lab tomorrow.”

She narrowed her eyes, “You don’t need aseptic technique in the kitchen you weirdo.”

“It’s not _aseptic_ , it’s _CLEAN_.”

Still bickering, you both headed into the kitchen to salvage a meal from the random ingredients you’d grabbed from the supermarket.

…..

“Why don’t you make another long furby? It’d keep you busy, and you’d be able to birth another godless abomination!”

You snorted, toying with the mushrooms before abandoning the plate altogether and resting your hands on your overly-full stomach. Violeta pushed your lukewarm tea over to you and you almost groaned from the prospect of having to consume more.

“I don’t know if I could get a furby posted here to mutilate. Although, they might have one here, I know all sorts of crap fell down from the surface.”

Violeta made a horrified face, “No wonder they were so defensive when they ascended if a fucking furby fell down there.”

Laughing, you clutched at your stomach with one hand and smacked her arm with the other, “Lubomir is literally the key to our success, how dare you insult his heritage.”

She rose her hands in her hair, “Alright, alright, no other furby children, but you should still make something. Maybe there’s a monster knitting group around here where you can talk about your aching knees in good company.”

“I’ll make you a little clock cosy so you’ll remember to check the assays.”

“Okay, we all have our faults,” Violeta grinned, flopping down beside you on the bed. Her arm nudged against yours and she dutifully scooted aside until you relaxed back into bed, “My internal clock, and all of your joints.”

“Alright, I mention my knees aching ONCE and suddenly I’m an old spinster whose creaky bones might leave me penniless on the streets.”

“You know me and Desi would let you stay in a little hut on our farm,” Violeta teased, poking you once on the round stomach.

“You are the Generous Queen.”

“I need those brownie points to make up for the time I peed in my flatmate’s smoothie in first year.”

“…WHAT?”

Violeta cackled, clutching her sides as she almost fell off the bed, “I… holy shit… w-we- me and my flatmate… we were just??? I don’t kno-o-o-ow…”

You reached up and grabbed a suitably firm pillow to start _beating your research partner to death with_.

“That’s so fucking rank Vi! What did they do?!”

“Okay… you know my mug?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Which mug?”

“The one where the neck of the brontosaurus is the handle? It’s like, the size of my head?”

Ah yes. You nodded in agreement- it was a great mug.

“WELL, he left it in his room,” she began slowly.

“Dickish, but not deserving of piss smoothie,” you interjected, still holding the pillow ready.

Slowly, Violeta leaned upwards, beckoning you to come closer, “You know what he kept in it?”

“No?”

“ _His fucking tobacco spit_.”

“NO.”

“I PROMISE YOU ALMY IT WAS LIKE MY MUG HAD TRAVELLED BACK IN TIME TO A WILD WEST SALOON.”

You threw the pillow down and pointed at Vi, “I’m so proud of you.”

“I knew you would be~” She grinned, propping herself up on her elbows.

“I love vengeance as much as the next person, you know that,” you sighed happily.

You lost track of time, trading stories of awful first year flatmates you’d told each other dozens of times before but were still funny. Mugs were used and reused until Violeta’s replies were mumbled to the point it sounded like she’d been chloroformed.

As much as you wanted her to stay, you still had work to do tomorrow, and if you botched it you’d have to start all over again.

“Sleep well, send my love to Desislava if you message her,” you whispered as you escorted Vi back to her room. It was late, and she could barely keep her eyes open. The last thing you needed was her barging into a stranger’s room and rootling through their wardrobe for their pyjamas. A knot of dread curled up in your stomach- it was time for bed. 

The human, rational side of your brain seemed to vanish as you made the short trip down the hallway to your flat.

You sat on the bed cross-legged and tipped out your jewellery wrap. It was costume stuff mostly, bought on a whim when a pretty lab technician was working next door and you wanted to be presentable. You collected them into pairs, and then lined them up first by size, then metal colour, then _accent_ colour, and finally the level of fanciness. It was silent bar the soft swish as you slid the earrings back and forth across the duvet. 

Twenty minutes.

You emptied out your wardrobe and hung everything up again, lining up your rolled-up socks like rows of soldiers. By colour, then by length, and finally by the ratio of synthetic to natural fibre. Every now and again the hairs on your neck would stand up, and you’d check the door was properly blocked again. Once you’d maximised the efficiency of your wardrobe storage you were at loss for what to do.

Thirty minutes.

Guiltily, you glanced at the calendar hung up by your bed, the therapy appointment in two days watching you judgingly. Near obsession with work was useful when you spent so long at work with such a high chance of failure, but…

 *******  
Your hands went to your hair without you even noticing. Like a spider spooling its silk, you worked through your thick, put patchy, head of hair until something in your mind clicked. Without thought, you yanked out your hair and left it on the bed before you.

Most of the time it was something about the hair itself. They were crinkly or too thick or had more split ends than a phylogenetic tree. Your haircuts had become less and less frequent since the unfortunate incident where the hairdresser asked if you had alopecia, which only made the split ends more common.

It was cyclical like that.

You shaved every other day so there was nothing to pull out on your body. Violeta always teased you for not having a ‘winter coat’, but you’d rather not have any more circular scars from digging hairs out of your skin.  
*******

You only stopped because your scalp started to ache all over, and your duvet was completely coated in hairs. The feeling of the odd ends catching on your fingers as you flung the bedding back made you nauseous. God you were fucking disgusting.

How did you even get to this point? Pulling your hair out, compulsively rearranging your house until it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. You shook out the duvet and made a note on your calendar to sweep up the floor later until finally all there was left to do was crawl back into bed. Even though your meeting with Undyne didn’t go as badly as it could’ve, it really shook you up.

Being looked at like that.

Like a thing.

_Maybe you were a thing?_

When was the last time you felt like a real person without somebody else to distract you? 

“Shut up,” you muttered to yourself, pulling the covers closer to you, “Just be fucking quiet.”

_A consumable, half used._

No, no not now.

You fell asleep reciting different animals’ latin names from species to domain, bile coating the back of your throat.

Time stopped for no man, and the sun rose far too soon. You felt a headache coming on as soon as you drew back the curtains, and it appeared in full force by the time you had your customary mug of coffee. 

As per your request, you and Violeta walked silently to the lab, taking deep lung-fuls of cold morning air. It was a temporary balm for your tiredness, but another mug of coffee at the office before work and you’d be able to function perfectly.

After rinsing the assays, you and Violeta spent six hours examining stained slides, drawing and setting aside ‘representatives’. It was tedious, time-consuming work, but the promise of more data was irresistible.

The silence was disturbed by a muffled buzzing. You and Violeta simultaneously patted your pockets until Vi found the offending article and answered the call. She motioned something to you before stepping in the supply room.

“Hey my lil munchkin, how’re things?”

Muffled giggles.

Sometimes you regretted learning Bulgarian.

“What am I wearing? Oh-“

You pushed your stool back. God no.

“A lab coat, closed toe shoes, a,” her voice got a little quieter, but her words still rang out through the lab, “pair of leggings.”

The door was within arm’s reach when her tone changed, “Sweetheart, what? Of course it’s not very ~seductive~ I’m at work!”

You had to bite down on your hand to stop from cackling.

“What? Anatomy? Why would I teach anatomy, I’m a geneticist-“

You had to crouch down you were laughing so hard.

“I have to head back to work, I have loads of slides to examine…. You’re not a plant cell, why would you need examination?”

After what you assumed was a very exasperated goodbye, Violeta headed back into the room, running over to you. 

“Holy shit, Alma, are you okay? Were you trying to get help?”

You were giggling hysterically, “Closed… toe… SHOES.”

She looked at you like you’d grown two heads, “We all have to wear them, it’s protocol, remember?”

“She… she was… trying to….” 

Clearly sick of your shenanigans, Violeta left you on the floor and returned to her microscope, “I have my work hat on, I don’t have time for your giggling.”

After you recuperated, you headed back to your own position, stifling a snort as Violeta muttered something under her breath.

Feeling a teensy bit bad, you motioned at her phone, “We can play some chalga if you’d like.”

Her side eye would kill a weaker being, “And I don’t have to listen to ‘Rake it up’ for half an hour in return?”

You raised your hands, “I promise.”

“Hell yeah!”

….

When the final slide was drawn, and you could barely keep your eyes open, you and Violeta decided to analyse them tomorrow and get a decent night’s rest. She waved cheerfully at you as you parted ways- there were some errands to run.

Even from the few walks around the city you’d had, the trip to the craft shop was noticeably easier than the walk to the bar. You still kept your papers in your bag just in case, but word travelled fast in Newest Home and you were spared any trouble apart from a few curious glances. The warm smell of wool and paper filled you with nostalgia- maybe all shops had it bottled and diffused in the air.

The shop was divided into sections, supplies crammed up to the roof. You couldn’t see the shopkeeper through all the shelves, but there was a distant yell of ‘welcome’ as the door slipped shut behind you. The hustle and bustle of the street completely disappeared. Like a rabbit returning to its furrow, you eagerly disappeared between the shelves.

Everything was magic. You weren’t sure what you expected, but wool that ‘loses its stripe as you grow’ had you baffled. What did that even mean? You noted it down in your phone to google later.

You squeezed through a tiny passage between the towering stacks of wool into a room filled with reams and reams of fabric. They weren’t arranged in any particular fashion you could make out, but you could still look through them without much trouble. You ran your fingers through the faux furs as you walked past, flinching back when one seemed to grab onto you like the tentacles of an anemone. 

In hindsight, you should’ve decided exactly what you were making before heading to the shop. You didn’t even know how long you’d spent in the confines of the shop, puzzling over why any fabric would need to be ‘sarcastic’. Seeing the fabrics had given you some inspiration- you would make a cuddly gharial! You could install a zipper around the mouth to mimic their teeth where you could keep things?

What would you keep in a cuddly gharial? Anything you wanted! You were GOD.

Of course the ideal fabric- a murky green faux fur with little golden accents- was far beyond your reach. Every monster you’d seen was massive, so it likely didn’t cause any problems most of the time. After a moment of calculating the angle you’d need to launch yourself at the shelf to knock the fabric down, you put your bag on the ground and prepared to possibly get the most embarrassing concussion possible.

Like a starfish being tossed at a wall, you jumped and bounced off against the fabric shelf before staggering back against a particularly plump roll of cotton. The fabric shifted uncertainly, teetering back and forth before rolling back into the recesses of the shelf.

“No, come back,” you hissed at the shelf, shaking your fist. You didn’t _hate_ talking to people, but you never liked bothering shop keepers, especially in such a small establishment. 

“do ya, uh, need a hand?” 

It sounded… familiar?

Slowly, you turned, not wanting to make eye contact with whoever just witnessed you fling yourself against the shelf.

“Oh! Um, if it’s not any trouble.”

He motioned up at the various rolls and you added hastily, “The green faux fur.”

“makin’ somethin’ interesting?” He asked, easily able to lift the roll down and drop it in your waiting arms.

You were private, a ‘mobile hermit’ in Violeta’s terms, but they were being polite. You could use some new friends, especially if you were spending the next five years here…

Trying to trace the shape in the air with your full hands, you ignored the little smile tugging at his teeth as you tried to explain what a gharial was to somebody who didn’t even know what a crocodile looked like.

“sounds hard.”

“Well, it’s not much harder than…” Oh god, how could you explain the subculture of oddbody furbies, “Some of my other projects.”

You motioned at the bundle of supplies in his basket, “What are you making?”

He shrugged sheepishly, “it’s more, uh, arts than crafts.”

“Oh cool,” you smiled, “I don’t get to draw much apart from cells.”

“cells? like prison cells?”

“Oh, no, they’re tiny little building blocks living things are made of. They’re really cool- you can see all of their organelles working away! And everything is made of cells, from plants to insects to… monsters?”

Did monsters even have cells? They literally turned to dust when they died, so it was borderline impossible to study them. Apparently they didn’t even bleed, but with the incredible variance of forms they came in nobody knew if that was applicable to all of them.

 _Focus_.

The familiar stranger was still looking at you when you snapped back to reality.

“Sorry. It’s not the most interesting topic.”

“you think so, don’t ya?”

You shrugged, “yeah, it’s just easier to say it’s not sometimes.”

Slowly, you made your way through the shelves and towards the till. The monster, which looked like a gigantic clam on three pairs of spindly legs, used its articulate tongue to enter the prices of your materials and take your gold.

The fur was damp where he’d handled it.

Already planning to wake up early the next morning and dab it clean, you listened to the cashier and the skeleton exchange a few words in ease that made you jealous given your clunky at best sentences.

“You’re really good at the ‘zh’ sound,” ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING HE DIDN’T HAVE A TONGUE. 

“nyeh heh, i’ve had lotsa of practice.”

The evening cool enveloped you as soon as you stepped out of the musty shop. You really hadn’t dressed for the weather, and your companion’s jacket looked thick and cosy with its warm lining. It only made you want to head home sooner.

“Uh, I understand if you don’t want to, like it’s completely fine, but I don’t really know anyone and… I could show you what a gharial looks like!”

You held your phone out in your hand and he looked at it like there was a perfectly fried egg in your palm.

You stood still for a moment. So, no?

Just as you were retracting your hand, deft bony fingers plucked the phone from your hand. Hearing the click of calcium against your phone screen reminded you of when Violeta stuck false nails on with superglue instead of nail glue.

“sorry, I just…. had to think about it?”

“Fair enough. I could be a morally corrupt orthopaedist.”

Another head tilt.

“Bone doctor.”

He chuckled again, and it quelled your fears you’d made some terrible racist faux-pas. 

“out to jump them?”

“Jump?” Was it a reference to your attempt at scaling the wall?

Now it was his turn to look at the ground awkwardly.

It really was getting cold, and you could almost smell the coffee you’d brew as soon as you got home.

“I have to run,” You glanced at the name in your phone, “Papyrus, but I’ll give you a message.”

“yeah, uh, have a good evening…” He paused.

“Alma.”

Papyrus smiled again, and it made the cold worth it, “alma. good night.”

He disappeared around a corner, and you set off yourself. The bag digging uncomfortably into your shoulder didn’t even register as you headed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone c: I hope you're all well. A reminder to check out @Popatochisp's new swapfell fanfic if you're after some high quality fluff.


	5. Nocturnal

It’d been five days since the encounter in the craft supply shop and you were losing your mind. Maybe you needed another long furby, one dedicated to a restful night’s sleep devoid of dreams. Your sleep schedule wasn’t awful by any means, but it was unreliable, and that was worse. You couldn’t plan for anything. Even Violeta, who was incredibly tolerant of your odd habits, couldn’t keep up with the late nights and early mornings 

No point in trying to just lie there until you went to sleep. That just meant you’d pull out your hair for two hours and head into the lab anyway because ‘what’s the difference between 4am and 8am? Nothing!’. 

Bored of rotting in your room, you donned your best winter jacket and scarf and headed out for a walk. It was stupid and dangerous, and you’d never do it in a human city, but your disappearance would be obvious here. Monsters were familiar with the politics of these situations, and no one wanted to evoke the wrath of the Queen for meddling with diplomatic affairs.

You meandered aimlessly between ‘your’ section of the city and the area surrounding the bakery when you got too cold. Regularly, about once every five minutes, something would flash in your peripheral vision and you’d whip your head around, yanking your earphones out to listen more carefully.

Hallucinations came with sleep deprivation. You knew that. Nobody was there.

Even so, you were relieved to find an all-night café and tuck yourself into a corner. Three monsters glanced up at you when you walked in, but the owner didn’t even look up when he handed you your mug of what looked like Ovaltine. The armchair smelled of old leather and some long-gone monster’s cologne. Distantly, there was laughter.

You’d stuffed your bag with paper, pens, and various scientific journals. If the mythical land of café productivity could be reached, you’d be kept busy for a while. Yet, nothing tickled your fancy. Usually you were so desperate to think of something _anything apart from **it**_ that you could force yourself to focus on something long enough to get engrossed. The journals were dull and poorly written, the calculations came out differently every time, and the crumpled paperback you found crammed in the bottom of your bag was worth more as kindling than reading material.

After several failed attempts at drawing out the gharial pattern, you stuffed your notebook back into your bag sulkily and took a sip of your drink. It was thick, coating your teeth, but not altogether unpleasant. You’d have to take Violeta if this place was even open during the day. You’d heard down the grapevine that older monsters were essentially nocturnal, the sunlight too strong to withstand after years trapped underground. Sunglasses were a hugely important part of monster fashion for a reason.

You could text Papyrus…And possibly wake him up. 

_He’d have his phone off if he was sleeping._

Unless he needed it for his alarm.

_Stop making excuses!!_

Worst case scenario- he’d wake up, ask where you were, and then beat the shit out of you as soon as you stepped outside. Not that he’d been at all violent, but you had to consider every possibility.

Maybe a joke? A meme? 

Your guilty pleasure was a folder on your phone full of reaction images and increasingly elaborate pictures of Lubomir. It was easy enough to guess your preference- in your humble opinion, nothing could beat a Kermit meme. 

After pondering over your selection, you finally sent a masterful picture of Kermit, knees tucked under his chin, yelling in the shower.

Alma: _Me_

You’d just put your phone down when the screen lit up, announcing you had a message.

Papyrus: _god what a mood_

You sighed in relief- it was a close tie between shower Kermit and burning-falling-off-a-building Kermit. Good call.

Alma: _Ur up late_

Papyrus: _hiya pot, i’m kettle_

Papyrus: _attemptin art, it’s_

Papyrus: _uh_

Papyrus: _comin along_

A few seconds, and then an image attachment came through. It looked like thick art paper, the kind made for water colour and ink works, and doodled smack dab in the middle was a skeleton lying face-down.

Alma: _Now that’s a mood right there_

Papyrus: _you doin some gahrial(?) readin?_

Time to humiliate yourself! 

You doodled a little gharial, trying hard to make it look as careless as possible while trying your hardest. It looked like a dog.

Hey, you never said you were an artist.

Admitting it was one of the ugliest things you’d ever seen, you added a comically long stick arm with a little thumbs-up and sent the picture off.

Papyrus: _scary_

Papyrus: _the animal!!! not your drawin!!!!_

Alma: _It looks like a carrot abandoned in Chernobyl Papyrus dw_

Another image, this time a doodle of a skeleton walking whatever godless monstrosity you’d drawn out. The difference in quality was so stark it made you bark out a laughter, making the barista shoot you a concerned look.

God, you were tired.

Papyrus: _good dog_

Alma: _The best dog_

Feeling bold, like a rebel without a cause, you turned on the camera and snapped a selfie, using the ‘ok’ hand emoji to cover what portion of your face the mug raised to your lips didn’t. Nobody deserved to be subjected to your rank face.

His next picture mirrored yours. Snorting, you coughed loudly as hot chocolate dribbled oh so attractively from your nose. Papyrus was holding a mug in one bony hand (he had huge hands, they made the mug look like a teacup) but his face was covered by a skull emoji.

Alma: _Twinnies lmao_

Alma: _I’m such a srendtetter_

Alma: _*trendsetter_

Papyrus: _think ya need to get to bed_

You sighed. You were tired.

You wish your body could forget. 

How many retrograde amnesiacs would be grateful for what they couldn’t remember, things so sickening their doctors and their families agreed it would be better just to let go.

Alma: _I’ll sleep in_

Alma: _18 hours_

Papyrus: _i’m headin to sleep now_

Papyrus: _settin a good example_

Alma: _Thank you for your sacrifice_

Alma: _Sweet dreamsss_

When you put your phone down, something shifted. You felt… ready. A small smile tugging at your lips, you pulled out the journals and popped the lid off your highlighter. The words made sense on the page (although they still swam slightly when you blinked) and got to work, occasionally heading up to the counter for a refill.

The sky was tinged lavender when you decided it was an acceptable time to head to the office and start analysis. You were calculating how long it would take to walk, taking into account any ‘evasive measures’ if you bumped into Undyne in the corridors. Not entirely sure how long it’d take to crawl out from under a supply trolly, you paused by the milk and sugar. 

Your fingers twitched.

A brain glitch.

Your movements felt stuttered, jilted, as you headed towards the door of the shop. Finally, you gave in, and ordered a coffee to go from the barista, who was watching you with raised eyebrows. 

The bell above the door rang out, but you couldn’t muster the energy to see who it was. Probably just another insomniac… or a functional person with an early morning job. Hey, maybe that’s what you were?

Something muffled.

“EXCUSE ME, I THINK YOUR COFFEE’S READY.”

Jolting from the wall, you shook your head to clear the sleep from it, “Ah, sorry, thank you.”

“LOOKS LIKE YOU NEED IT.”

In your sleepy haze, you thought the stranger was Papyrus for a second (oh god, was that racist). Another skeleton monster, around two feet taller than you and dressed in an expensive black suit.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you smiled and gestured towards the gigantic cup of coffee in his gloved hands, “Pot and kettle.”

Something changed.

You couldn’t say what, but the stranger’s slightly smug, teasing tone disappeared. His expression didn’t change, you know it didn’t, but for a split second it felt like the air crackled with electricity.

And then it was gone.

Eager to put some distance between you, you nodded your head slightly, “Have a good day, enjoy your coffee.”

And then you left the store as quickly as possible without straight-up running. 

The whole way to the office, you were looking behind yourself, almost bumping into lamp posts and shop fronts. It was hardly a new feeling _you hadn’t felt safe for years_ but something about this was different, like your feet were being sucked into the pavement. Even Undyne would be a welcome reprieve from the eyes following you.

After half an hour of willing your caffeine-sick heart to stop skipping, you started working through your drawings with a more critical eye and disregarding those with any degree of uncertainty. Artefacts? Gone. Ruptures cell walls? Useless.

It was much more lenient in Newest Home, but strict rules had to be followed if the mutation was to be allowed in global agriculture, and your research would be picked apart if you weren’t careful.

You knew it was going to be a long day as soon as Violeta all but kicked the door open. She wasn’t carrying her usual herbal tea, and her scarf was hastily tossed over one shoulder. 

“It stinks of coffee in here.”

Wordlessly, you opened the window as she dumped her bag down on the table. 

She picked up the bag and dropped it again. 

It sounded wrong, too light.

“Did you bring the diagnostics criteria?”

Oh yeah. 

Knowing Mt. Violeta was about to fucking erupt, you shook your head, “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

Silence.

“Did you?”

“Why would I bring it when you said you would?” She asked. Even the slight raise in her voice was enough to make you cringe internally, but your outside was steeled. It was no big deal.

“I can run and-“

“Are you _okay_ , Alma?”

You didn’t like how she was looking at you.

As much as you tried to keep your voice soft and low, it still came out clipped, “I’m fine.”

Violeta grit her teeth. Despite the caffeine, you weren’t quick enough to stop her grabbing your mug and tipping the contents out of the window. The outside of the window was flecked transparent brown from stray drips of coffee.

“Is there an issue?” You asked, standing in front of your spider’s terrarium. What if she yeeted your (arthropod) best friend out of the window?

“Promise to be honest.”

“What?”

“Promise.”

“Fine, Jesus Christ, I promise I won’t lie.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“…”

“…”  
“WHAT?”

She pulled out a fucking _whiteboard_ and drew a big circle in the middle. You were so shocked by the audacity you just watched as she drew arms leading from it.

“Always heading off and not saying where, bad sleep schedule, bad appetite, mood swings!”

“I’m stressed you dumb bitch. How dare you think I’d jeopardise our research like that! Has something happened with Desislava? Is that why you’re acting like this?”

“Of course not!”

“You only get this whiny when you’ve had a fight.”

“No! It’s nothing to do with her! It doesn’t matter that she met up with her ex and didn’t tell me until after THAT ISN’T THE ISSUE. The issue is your fucking stimulant addiction!”

Christ almighty.

You were still fucking pissed off, but at least her explosive anger was trailing off into the murky sadness which was a world easier to deal with. Firmly, you steered her over to her office chair and passed her Lubomir. She squeezed him so tight he’d be dead if he wasn’t an undying embodiment of discovery.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s your cocaine that’s causing issues,” she mumbled sulkily into Lubomir’s fur.

“I’m not on cocaine, and you’re not distracting me. What’s going on?”

What you gleamed from the twenty-minute-long story was that Desislava was messaged by her ex of a year when she returned from Russia. Knowing Violeta was jealous (an issue she was working on in full credit to her) she went out for coffee with the ex and two friends, and had planned on keeping it secret until a friend in Sofia convinced her otherwise.

It was a little shady, you couldn’t deny that, but you’d met Desi. She and Violeta were completely in love, and with the two other friends there, you doubted anything had happened. As for cheating…

You knew it was a shitty thing to think, but it would be a lot less trouble for Desislava to break things off with Violeta if she wanted to than to wait. After all, Vi was abroad for five years, and wouldn’t be returning to Bulgaria for the entirety of the placement. 

“I know it’s bad of me to think she’d do that,” Vi grumbled, fiddling with Lubomir’s false eyelashes, “And I know I wouldn’t like it if she got mad at me if I met up with an ex.”

“That’s good,” you soothed, perched on the desk next to her, “It’s okay to be mad that she lied. That wasn’t a nice thing to do.”

“Hmmm.”

You tilted your head, “Did you tell how her you felt?”

She shrugged, “I just came across as angry. I’m just, ugh-“

“Shit at being angry?” You gently teased, patting her messy hair.

“Bitch… yeah. I can’t make the points I want to when I’m mad, it just comes out wrong.”

“Maybe, next time, text it instead of saying it. It’s hard to do stuff so impulsively.”

Vi snorted, “When have you been impulsive.”

“I don’t get mad like that.”

“Really?”

“I guess I don’t have emotional arguments? I’m not dating anyone, and you’re pretty simple.”

“Hey!” 

At least she was smiling again.

You tapped on her shoulder, “Now…”

She looked up.

“You owe me an apology.”

“I’m sorry for accusing you of taking drugs.”

“And?”

“And I’m sorry for tipping your coffee out of the window.”

“I forgive you. Message Desislava, then turn your phone off and help me look through all these drawings. I’ve made a decent start.”

You were like an emotional pressure valve. It wasn’t pleasant, and you ended up knowing a lot more than you wanted to nine times out of ten, but it was nice to feel useful. Violeta was charismatic enough to have any number of close friends, but she stuck with you. 

Maybe she wasn’t so smart after all.

…..

It was late, and you'd finally thrown in the towel and agreed to walk home with Violeta.

“Do you fancy a walk in the woods this weekend?” You asked, your building in sight.

“Sorry Almy, I need to talk to Desi.”

You sighed melodramatically, wiping a tear from your eye, “I’ll send you pictures of all cool plants I find.”

She grinned, “None as good as Frankenplant.”

“It’s not realistic for every plant to be as good as our boy.”

Just as you parted down the hallway, you called out to Violeta.

“Why don’t you send her some flowers online or something? What did you give her on your first date?”

Violeta clapped her hands together, “Great! Thanks!”

“Wait,” you narrowed your eyes, “You gave her fucking violets, didn’t you?”

She stuck her tongue out, “Don’t knock what works, Alma. Maybe if you sent potential suitors boxes of almonds valentines day wouldn’t be ‘discount chocolate day’.”

“You’re lucky we’re in a hallway and not in international waters,” you playfully sneered before finally heading to your own little flat.

The two working days passed quickly, and before you knew it you’d walked an hour through the city into the suburbs, and then into the deep wood surrounding Newest Home. 

It was genuine old-growth forest, a mixture of deciduous and conifer trees. The air was noticeably colder without the concrete and dark stone absorbing the heat during the day. Your footsteps were the loudest sound in the near forest, punctuated by a panicked scurry from whatever animal you’d startled through the underbrush. Even with your nose and ears aching with cold, it felt perfect. 

The path turned from tarmac to packed dirt, and finally an abandoned animal run through tangles of brambles and ferns. If the trail disappeared in spring growth it wouldn’t surprise you. The air was thick with the dark smell of loam.

You could die here and melt into the leaf litter.

A snap.

You whirled around, eyes the size of saucers. The wood was still and silent, not a single bird calling. Barely lifting your feet, you moved backwards, scanning the environment. The brambles scratched at your clothes, thorns pulling you further into the knee-high foliage.

Paranoid, that was all. It was an animal at absolute most.

Suddenly the cold wasn’t comfortable. It nipped at the patch of bare skin on your ankle exposed as you walked. Your ears rang from cold, muffling the sound of whatever _definitely wasn’t following you because it wasn’t real_.

It was the most awake you’d felt in weeks.

Don’t seem scared. Don’t let them know you knew they were following you.

_lie in bed pretend to sleep ignore their hand you’re sleeping it’s against the rules not how it’s supposed to go_

The canopy of bare branches thinned out, showing the dull orange glow of light pollution from the city. 

The path became more substantial the closer you got to the main road leading to the suburbs. By the time your foot hit tarmac, you were laughing. A little hysterical sure, but it was better than ugly sobbing in public!

There was nothing there. Pumas and coyotes ignored people, and even if they didn’t you were sure you’d’ve seen them creeping towards you. 

That flash of purple? Litter. A discarded energy drinks can you felt shitty for not picking up. Yeah. You were fine.

You hadn’t found any especially cool plants, which was mildly disappointing. Not even some cool fungi feeding on dead wood- maybe it just got too cold. Newest Home was in-land and at a fairly high altitude. When it got cold, it got cold fast.

That’s why you were shivering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter biscuits. Fun fact, I'm so cripplingly insecure I can't even read other UT writing anymore without feeling bad lol I'm gross.
> 
> Gross like a fox?


	6. Signals

You were suffering from a serious case of spider withdrawal. That, or your eyes weren’t as good as they used to be. There were webs everywhere, seemingly appearing overnight in the corners of your room, but their architects were nowhere to be found. You ceased sweeping for a week, afraid that the owners were being deposited into the dust bin, but still nothing. At least your lab spider was doing well, always exploring the enrichment you changed weekly every Wednesday.  
Scratching absentmindedly at the gross dry skin on your legs, there was a ding from your phone. 

 

Violeta’s best selfie angle was just under the chin, tongue poked out so you could see the blue-pink veins on the underside. 

ViVisection: _Am I A QT?_

You sent back an equally flattering photo.

Croque monswhore: _Oui. Doeu youe waunt to geau on a waulque?_

Only cowards didn’t use at least three vowels per word.

Her face, dramatically crumpled up, came next.

Vivisection: _you’re crazy. I’ll stay warm pls and thnx_

Croque monswhore: _Stay toasty- I’ll message when I’m home_

Croque monswhore: _The trees appreciate my vowels :’v_

After pulling on some weather-appropriate clothes, you tucked your phone in your pocket and headed out of the flat. You were getting more confident, especially with the area surrounding your walk home, and a small pocket of the hot area. 

Somewhere, an owl called, and a reply sounded from the other direction. It made you stop, listening to what you were sure was a riveting owl conversation. With the city so densely packed, each building towering and twisting in ways only made possible through magic, it was easy to forget how close the forest was. Mt. Ebott loomed ominously in the distance, its shadow only a fraction darker than the night sky. Telescopes scattered around the city revealed a tiny light still flickering from the gaping wound where monsters had poured out in pulses like hot blood. 

You doubted you’d ever go up there due to the inevitable poetic justice that would be you tripping and getting yourself trapped in the Underground.

You walked until your hands were numb and your toes were stinging. Still, no spiders.

Finally, you ended up staring at the neon spider dangling from Muffet’s. There were spiders in there, but was it cheating? Were they even spiders like you knew? Or monsters? 

If you didn’t count it towards your spider count, it didn’t matter. You just wanted to watch some creepy crawlies for a bit and calm down, that’s all.

Muffet’s seemed permanently packed from the few times you’d visited, and tonight was no exception. The chatter and laughter seemed to come from a different dimension from yours, words spoken too quickly and too heavily accented for you to catch.

A particularly long giggle caught your ear. A rabbit monster with gorgeously soft looking lop ears was leaning on one manicured hand, the other idly holding a half-full glowing cocktail. The dozens of piercings lining the edge of her ears caught the light wonderfully. When she licked the sugar from the rim of her glass, she revealed a black forked tongue.

Not wanting to be a fucking creep, you looked to her companion (as not to stare) and averted your gaze entirely.

It was Papyrus. Well, it looked like him, but the body language seemed so off from the Papyrus who watched you fling yourself at a wall. His arm was stretched over the counter, fingers tapping on the counter idly. For some reason you felt like you should leave, like you’d walked into _his_ house, but Muffet had already spotted you with her beady eyes.

“Good Evening, Dearie~ The usual?”

You approached the bar cautiously, weaving your way through the tables to maintain the most distance from Papyrus and his date? Friend? Whatever, you needed something sweet that glittered.

“Could I have a second with the menu please?” 

Muffet nodded, leaving you with the menu as she tried to convince another patron they most definitely needed that extra spider cider. You could hear the pair behind you talking, exchanges punctuated by laughter.

It was tempting.

They were _right there_. All it’d take was a little focus and you’d be able to hear exactly what they were talking about.

You pulled your phone out and put in the earbud closest to them. The music combined with the miscellaneous chatter made it impossible to focus on their conversation, and you were free to look at the menu.

Light tapping, and then a tiny little touch on your arm. You glanced down at the spider, not able to help but smile at their eager little eyes. What a cutie with their little job and their little apron, you just wanted to _scoop them up and take them to tea_.

“Could I have a chrysanthemum tea?” You asked, keeping your voice soft. 

Their chelicerae shifted slightly before they disappeared over the counter.

Would it be too much to hire one just to chill with you? Were there spider-monster masseuses? 

More questions to research and hopefully not be put on the government watch list for!

Maybe you should say hello?

No, it was too late. You’d been hidden for too long so if you revealed yourself now it would be obvious that you were deliberately hiding and only just got the bottle to say anything.

If you just died, then you wouldn’t have to be awkward! Because you’d be dead!

The tea arrived while you debated the pros and cons of smacking your head against the bar until you lost consciousness, and you landed your gold over to the little spider. Not only did they have an apron, but the apron had a tiny little pocket! 

“What do you keep in there?” You cooed, “A little notepad? A snack?”

Still staring up at you, the spider reached into the pocket with one leg and revealed…

A tiny spider cigarette?

Monsters had _lungs_?

Sick of your possibly-racist curiosity, the spider disappeared with your money, and finally you took a sip of the tea. It was sweet, probably from whatever syrup gave it the slight heady aroma, and you felt your muscles relax. The steam soothed your eyelids.

“Rus, doll, I hafta go, but I’ll get whatya need.”

Pointedly, you didn’t look behind you as you heard two stools scrape back against the floor.

“thanks, let me know if ya need a favour-“

“I’ma message ya later with the deets.”

Just one peek?

No! You took a scalding mouthful of tea to remind yourself to mind your own fucking business.

Muffet sang out a goodbye, and the click of heels against wood faded into the laughter of the other patrons. 

“Another amaretto and coke, Papyrus?” 

“Go on.” 

Shit, he sat back down! How were you supposed to leave unnoticed now? You hadn’t brought that much cash with you, and whatever you did have certainly wasn’t enough to pay Muffet to distract him while you skidaddled out of there.

“Is the tea to your liking, dearie?” Her black eyes glittered in the pink light, and when you reminded yourself to stop fucking staring, you came face-to-face with a confused looking Papyrus. Absentmindedly, you nodded, and Muffet scurried over to two very inebriated patrons. Probably to peddle more of her spider doughnuts- apparently cannibalism wasn’t a big thing in monster culture?

“i didn’t see you there?” 

You managed an awkward laugh, “A long night for the both of us I guess.”

He nodded, passing his gold over to Muffet before taking a sip of his drink God knows how, “yeah.”

In the silence that followed, you both made a pact to not acknowledge how cripplingly awkward you both were. Ten minutes stretched into fifteen, and you had to say something.

“She’s cute.”

“eh?”

“The girl you were with,” you explained, “I really liked her piercings.”

“Nyeh heh, they’re Flopsy’s pride n’ joy,” Papyrus chuckled, “But I’m not ‘with’ her. She gets me stuff from human cities for art.”

You smiled, “That’s nice of her.”

His metacarpals clinked against his glass, “that’s a stretch. ‘s not like i don’t pay her.”

“I could get a thing or two posted here if you’d like? The directions might be in French though.”

“not gonna translate ‘em for me?”

“Je suis désolé. Je ne parle pas français.”*

The irony was apparently lost on Papyrus, but he seemed interested all the same.

“say somethin’ else.”

You thought, and then grinned, “Geoges Bush a eu à connaitre le 11 septembre.”**

He was resting his head on the palm of his right hand, elbow on the bar, and the focus in his gaze made you shrink back a little. 

“Uh, sorry?”

Why were you sorry? Who knows! Nobody could be mad at you for apologising though.

“don’t be, ‘s pretty.”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” you chuckled, taking another sip of your tea. Maybe there was some weird alcohol in it; you certainly felt more relaxed than before.

“My friend Violeta always says it sounds like I’m about to throw up.”

“teach me some.”

As tempting as it was to have him reciting Madeleine Mccann conspiracy theories, you’d save that for another day.

“Bonsoir means goodnight. The ‘soi’ sounds like it has a ‘w’ sound in it.”

He tried the pronunciation a few times, and you couldn’t help but clap your hands together when he finally got it perfect. A light violet hue glowed across his cheekbones- was he getting sick.

You finished your tea, cup immediately removed by little spider helpers, and counted out a few coins for a tip, “Want to get some air?”

Papyrus nodded, downing his own drink and nodding at the few patrons who waved goodbye to him, “yeah, I fancy a walk… what’s that?”

“Une promenade.”

“a pomegranate.”

“Bon,” you grinned at Papyrus, looking forward to getting some space. The later it got, the more patrons crowded into the small standing place, accidentally bumping into your back and making your hackles rise.

After shrugging on your coat, you and Papyrus headed out through the crowd. He gently touched your shoulder to guide you past the raucous monsters wagering on a snail race and you cringed from the touch. The noise and smells filled your head with useless unease. 

The cold night air offered some relief until you spotted the coffee shop skeleton outside, arms crossed and pointy-toed boot tapping against the floor rhythmically. 

You tilted your head, looking back between Papyrus and coffee-skeleton. Papyrus didn’t seem bothered, in fact, there was a genuine, unbidden smile spreading across the jagged spikes of his teeth.  
“missed my curfew?”

Coffee skeleton sighed, “NO, ENFORCING ONE WOULD KEEP ME UP EVERY NIGHT YOU HEATHEN. I JUST WANTED A WALK BEFORE BED.”

“a pomegranate.”

“WHAT?”

Their speech was heavily accented with one you’d never heard before. Not wanting to appear ignorant, you hadn’t asked, but did monsters have different dialects between… morphs? Races? They were so varied you rarely saw two of the same type together.

Speaking of, these were the only two skeletons you’d seen in your entire time at Newest Home.

_Was it racist to think they were related?_

So busy imagining the public shame of you being removed from Newest Home, their conversation floated over you until it came to a sudden stop, and both skeletons were looking at you.

 _Whoops_.

“what d’ya think?” Papyrus asked, pulling a cigarette case from his coat pocket. Coffee skeleton’s face wrinkled, and Papyrus rolled his dim eye lights before putting one between his teeth, “you cool with that?”

Oh no.

“Whatever is easiest for you guys?”

“SORTED. LETS GET GOING, HUMAN.”

“alma.”

His eyes narrowed, “HUMAN.”

“stars, bro…” Papyrus took a drag of his cigarette, and you looked between them.

“Going where?” You asked, still baffled.

“DISNEYLAND.”

You took the slightest step back, and coffee skeleton’s tapping increased in frequency.

“I’M WALKING YOU BACK TO YOURS.”

Papyrus shifted from foot to foot, “I have ta get somethin’ from the shops before closing’.”

“Oh, that’s okay!” Fake cheerfulness would save you, “It was nice seeing you, Papyrus.”

His teeth quirked up in a smile, making the situation a little more bearable, “bonsoir, Alma. Later, Sans.”

Sans (apparently) had already started walking at a pace you had to lightly jog to keep up with, so with one final look over your shoulder, you ran after him. How he managed to walk that quickly in heels _must’ve_ been magic.

Once you’d caught up, he seemed to take pity on you and slowed down. Now you were walking at the very quickest you could, but it felt more casual and kept you warm. There was a thick, woollen scarf wound around Sans’ neck, and you regretted your own foolishness. You could really do with some mittens right now.

At least the surroundings were familiar. Watching the same shops, now shuttered down and lights turned off, pass you by was a distraction.

You halted.

It took a moment for Sans to notice, but you suspected even that was calculated. His eye lights seemed far too bright when he turned, noticing your absent footsteps.

“IS THERE A PROBLEM, HUMAN? DO YOU NEED A BREAK?”

“How do you know where I live?”

“PARDON ME?”

“We’re walking the right way and I haven’t given you directions once. You took the shortcut between the fur-trimmers and the corner shop. You know where you’re going.”

He raised a bony brow, “IT WAS JUST WALKING TOWARDS THE RESEARCH CENTER, WHERE YOU’D LEAD THE WAY. IS THAT AN ISSUE?”

Wow, now you were the dickhead.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

Maybe he really just was doing you a favour. You needed to chill for ten seconds. The fast pace had occupied your mind, let you walk down an alleyway with a total stranger in a community that hosted you begrudgingly at best.

You caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp teeth- sharkish, each tooth the same- when he smiled, “PLEASE, LEAD THE WAY.”

After five minutes of walking, Sans walking perfectly in pace with you just behind you, you regretted your decision. It was hard to hear his footsteps, and whenever you glanced behind at him, he was staring. In the dark, his eye lights cast a violet glow across his cheekbones, accentuating the three deep scratches across his left eye socket.

You were being stalked.

Subconsciously you quickened your pace, but he kept the same distance behind you, heeled boots clicking as he walked. When your block of flats came into sight you almost broke into a run.

But predators always chased the ones who ran.

“Thank you for walking me,” you said, gesturing back at the building behind you, “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but it’s getting late.”

Sans shrugged, the grin coming back, “IT WAS NO PROBLEM AT ALL, HUMAN. GOODNIGHT.

Just as you turned to enter, keys ready in your hand, he said something which made shivers run down your spine.

“REMEMBER TO CLOSE YOUR WINDOW, THAT’S HOW THE SPIDERS GET IN AND OUT.”

W h a t?

You turned, and Sans was grinning again.

Despite the fear churning in your gut, you were fucking mad.

“How do you know where I live?”

He toyed with the collar on what was obviously a military uniform coat now your dumb ass had bothered to properly look, “GETTING INFORMATION ON ONE OF THE TWO HUMANS IN THE ENTIRE CITY WAS A TASK BEFITTING A CHILD.”

You glanced behind you at the empty lobby. Of-fucking-course the doorman had gone for his smoke break when you were going to get brutally murdered in plain sight!

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT HIM, HE HAS THE NIGHT OFF,” Sans grinned, taking a step closer.

Even though he was small compared to the other monsters you’d met, you still had a good few inches on you. You felt tiny.

“I JUST WANTED TO BE COURTEOUS AND LET YOU KNOW…”

 _Please let it be about a community raffle_.

“THAT IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO PAPYRUS…”

He took a step forward with each pause until your back hit the car bollard, making you jump a foot in the air. 

“YOU’LL HAVE A **B A D T I M E**.”

It took a moment for the threat to process. As close as you were to shitting yourself, a wave of red hot rage rushed over you. You’d literally just wanted to make a friend. You’d been nice and polite, on your best behaviour! 

“Oh fuck off.”

The eye lights flickered, but your dumb bitch disease was terminal, and you continued.

“I’m not being at all malicious! I don’t know who anyone is in this town so I have no personal grudges against yourself and Papyrus, and if I wanted to fucking take down the monster government, why wouldn’t I go after Undyne? The Royal Scientist who exclusively works odd hours on confidential experiments that could feasibly go wrong, especially if she was working on surface compounds? Or the literal fucking Queen- I could make a respiratory poison, wait until the wind direction was right, and then spray the crops with it. It would be an ACCIDENT. Honestly, it’s a joke that you’d even think I’d come up with such a stupid roundabout plan. I have spent years working, and to have a literal stranger- UGH. Up until tonight I had no clue you and Papyrus were related, so my getting close to him would’ve been absolutely useless.”

Sans quickly countered, “SO YOU’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT?”

“No you munter! I’ve literally come up with this half-assed plan in the last thirty seconds, and even if I hadn’t why would I tell you when you apparently ‘have connections’ and could just warn Undyne or the Queen and get me executed for treason? Or, if you didn’t want to political backlash, follow me into the foods, maul me, and claim I was eaten by a bear which I tried to feed berries to because I am a dumb ass feral scientist? Or just? Push me down the stairs? People fall down the stairs all the time. Easy- follow me home from Muffet’s where you would’ve spiked my drink with more alcohol so I’d be unusually drunk, push me down the stairs, and let the alcohol and cold do me in.  
“If you wanted to be less hands on you could just poison me by slipping a slow-acting chemical into my work kettle and claim I caught a pathogen from the Underground, and since no humans know how they would affect an Overground organism, nobody would question it! Even if they did, it wouldn’t be brought up since one scientist, possibly two since my lab partner might die, mean next to nothing in the grand scheme of monster-human relations. ”

You were talking so fast the words came out in a near incomprehensible blur, but hopefully the violent gesturing got the message across to Sans, who was watching you closely. Realising you’d gone completely off track, and that giving the strange skeleton ideas wasn’t a great idea, you took a deep breath and tried to hide the trembling in your hands.

THERE WAS ONLY ROOM FOR ONE PARANOID BITCH IN THIS TOWN.

“In conclusion, I want to be Papyrus’ _friend_ , that’s all. Do you have any questions?”

It was silent for a moment before the grin returned.

“ALLOW ME TO FORMALLY INTRODUCE MYSELF. I’M SANS, SANS THE SKELETON.”

He held out his gloved hand. You didn’t take it.

“I’m Alma.”

He waited, but he wasn’t getting shit. It wasn’t nice to meet him.

“AS AN APOLOGY, PLEASE COME OVER FOR DINNER WITH PAPYRUS AND MYSELF. I’LL BE SURE TO MAKE SOMETHING MAGNIFICENT.”

You were about to object, come up with some flimsy excuse, but Sans wagged his finger back and forth like a beauty-guru about to use an egg as a foundation sponge, “I KNOW YOU FINISH WORK ON AVERAGE BY 9:37pm. SEE THAT YOU ARRIVE AT OUR HOUSE BY 10pm THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. I WILL MESSAGE YOU THE ADDRESS.”

“You have my phone number?” You asked tiredly.

“HEHEHEH, NO, BUT IF YOU’RE OFFERING-” Your phone floated out of your pocket, darting out of your reach when you startled and jumped to grab it. The violet light surrounding it crackled and sparked as your fingers barely brushed through it. Even though you were literally being mugged, albeit in a polite way, you didn’t want to yell wake anyone up. Plus, if Violeta heard, she’d eat him, and then you really would be in trouble.

Sans tapped something into your phone, ignoring you heated stare. Soon your phone was returned, and you held it tight in your hand. He’d probably messaged himself.

Doffing his imaginary cap, Sans grinned at you one last time, “GOODNIGHT, ALMA. SEE YOU TOMORROW.”

And then he was gone, and you wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think (if you want to). I'm not super happy with it? I think it's the pacing, but I don't have time rewrite it. I have 4 assignments due in in two weeks and 5 exams the week after that, so wish me luck.
> 
> Translations:  
> *I am sorry, I do not speak French
> 
> ** George Bush knew about 9/11


	7. Dentine

“Hahahaha you’re gonna fucking _die_.”

“I don’t need you to state the obvious Vi, I need you to fake my death so I can get out of this.”

Violeta snorted into her yoghurt, dribbling attractively down her chin, “You could not go.”

“No, you don’t understand,” you insisted, sipping at your coffee before getting to work on an especially juicy tangerine, “He’s challenged me by asking. If I don’t go, he’ll think I’m a liar. And a coward. AnD i’M nOt A cOwArD.”

Violeta snickered, and for a moment you revelled in your meme-facilitated victory, but she was quick on the rebound.

“He basically threatened you Alma. He’s been watching you for God knows how long, and he’s probably high up enough to pull a string or two.”

With Lebron James aim, you tossed the peel into the dustbin, “That’s why I’m telling you- if I don’t message you by 5am the next morning I am dead and he did it.”

Exasperated, Violeta rolled her eyes, “Oh my god Alma, if you think you’re going to die just _don’t go_.”

You dramatically paced over to your spider’s terrarium, glancing around the foliage, “No. I want to make a friend, just because Papyrus’ older brother is a cunt doesn’t mean I have to back down.”

“Is this really just over a friend?”

That tone in her voice, you knew it. You knew it meant a lecture, and you focused even harder on inspecting the leaves for mould or mildew.

Using a lifetime of standoffishness, you kept your face completely straight, “Yes, a friend. There’s the added bonus of proving Sans wrong though, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“No no no~ I know you, and I know your spite face. This is something else.”

Violeta raised her hands in defeat, getting up and peering at your profile. You kept your face straight, scanning for your little spider pal, when her grin grew so big you could see it in your peripheral vision.

“Oh my god, you like Papermaché.”

“Papyrus. And I don’t like _that_ , I want to be his friend. He’s funny and his sleep schedule’s as bad as mine.”

“When was the last time you dated someone, Almy?”

“God, not again.”

Every two months Violeta would suggest you ‘put yourself out there’ and ‘get out of your cave you hermit bitch’. Every two months, you shot her down, pointing out that you were far too busy, and notoriously absorbed in your work. If people did fancy you they never said- or they did, and you just nodded and agreed that yes, the PCR went very well.

She hopped up onto the desk, legs swinging, “And I don’t mean your slutty phase in third year- although by any other student’s standards you were the Virgin Mary.”

Ah, yes, your slutty phase of taking MD, sleeping with a stranger, and crying for three days straight afterwards! What wild times!

_You were dirty anyway, but as much as your online friend Katherine insisted it helped, it made you dry wretch just thinking about it._

_If you wanted it then, maybe you wanted it back-_

Whoops- luckily Violeta hadn’t noticed your eyes glazing over. After a second of confusion, you caught up with the conversation even though bile flooded your mouth.

“Almy, it’s pretty obvious you’re lonely.”

You walked over to the tiny sink, pouring away the rest of the coffee and grabbing your water bottle, “You should’ve been a detective, Vi.”

“I know you like your feral-scientist, workaholic image, but you’ve been single your whole-“

“Vi. I made the damn macaroons. I’m going over to their house. With all respect, and I really mean that, I don’t want your advice. I understand you’re happy with Desislava, and you’re just looking out for me, but if I don’t want to date Papyrus- which is **not** even on the table- then I won’t, okay?”

Finally, Vi got the message, and let you turn away to take another swig of water without bothering you. It made your heart ache- you never liked snapping at people, especially people that were just trying to help, but it wasn’t nice. 

You didn’t need a reminder that you couldn’t and probably would never be able to, get over what happened. 

Ever.

Clapping your hands together, you smiled widely at Violeta, “Lets head back to the lab. If we finish early, I’ll give you one of the macaroons.”

Immediately Violeta perked up like a dog who’d heard the T-R-E-A-T word, “What flavour did you make them?”

“Six cinnamon, six almond, and six coffee.”

“In your tiny kitchen?”

“It’s a bomb site, but it’s clean.”

The conversation from before tucked neatly away, you headed towards your lab with your partner. The foreboding feeling that’d followed you around all day keeping two paces behind.

…..

“Good luck, remember to message me,” Violeta smiled as she gave you a light hug goodbye. Even then the pastry box in your hands trembled from what you insisted was the cold. You’d left slightly early to ensure a prompt arrival at the house of horrors.

And Papyrus.

“Will do. I’ll snag some monster snacks for you.”

She whipped around, winking, “That’s no way to talk about Papermaché.”

“STOP BULLYING ME.”

Violeta tossed the entire fucking macaroon in her mouth to show her dominance and flipped you off, “I WILL ONCE YOU GET SMALL ENOUGH TO STUFF IN A LOCKER.”

Eventually the distance was too far to shout, and you gave one last wave before hurrying down the road. Like the rest of the city, greenery climbed and curled around grates and gutters, but the main attraction were tiny little fur trees. You stepped closer and gave a cautionary whiff- it wasn’t pine exactly, more like the dangling trees in taxicabs.

Even with your winter woollies, the chill made you hurry your pace. Frost glittered on the roofs of the houses, which got progressively bigger the further you walked. Finally, at 21:45, your phone vibrated in your pocket, startling you out of your stupor.

Surely it was the wrong house.

Honestly, you had no idea what you’d expected, but you couldn’t think up a house so pretty. The panelling of the Victorian (Torielian?) house was a periwinkle blue, the wooden accents painted in light cream and navy to compliment it. No two windows were the same, and unless you’d lost it, the literal tower lined with tiny octagons was no illusion.

Note to self, google Monster architecture. 

Cautiously, you climbed the steps, checking each one for spikes or pitfalls or trip wires. The familiar feeling of being watch crawled up your back, and you were sure some delightfully-decorated camera was tucked away somewhere. The doorknocker looked like a canid skull with eyes that lit up as soon as your hand curled around the ring hanging from between its teeth.

…You really were going to die.

The resounding knock echoed inside the house, and distantly there was the sound of claws on carpet. A dog, perhaps?

Despite the stinging cold, you genuinely smiled at Papyrus when he opened the door.

“Hey, c’mon in. Take off ya shoes a sec, I’ll let Sans know.”

Without moving, Papyrus cupped one skeletal hand around his mouth and hollered so loud you felt your ossicles clatter together like possessed maracas.

“Bro! Alma’s ‘ere!”

For the sake of your own sanity, you focused on unlacing your boots and placing them on a low level of the shoe rack by the door. Papyrus’ phalanges poked through several holes in his socks.

God it was weird to see skeleton feet.

Did your feet look like that under all the squishy stuff?

“Thank you for having me. I, uh have something for you two. As thanks.”

“our pleasure.” Papyrus leaned closer, speaking even quieter than usual, “uh, my bro’s… nyeh heh, he’s awesome, but don’t let ‘im rattle ya.”

Obviously your impending doom wasn’t as interesting as your mediocre gift, but you didn’t want your family to pay the postage and packaging for it to be sent back home alongside your corpse.

“I made you macaroons.”

“the fuck is that?”

“LANGUAGE, PAPYRUS. STOP SKULKING IN THE ATRIUM AND COME IN.”

Papyrus sighed and lead the way. Following him, you turned round a corner, through another little atrium crowded with bookcases, and into a much less formal feeling sitting room. Everything was clean and tasteful, but the sofa cushions sagged slightly from nights parked in front of the television, and the little bone coasters were adorned with mug-rings.

A few art pieces caught your eye, acrylic paintings of what you assumed were various views of the Underground. A lab rising out of lava, decrepit houses cracking under the weight of glowing ivy tendrils, and a splatter of blood in an otherwise tranquil snowy scene.  
You stepped closer, admiring the brush strokes and smooth scrapes where a pallet knife had been used. In the very bottom right corner, so small that you had to squint, was a little signature.

‘Rus’, with a little bone underlining it.

“uh, what’re you looking at?” Papyrus hurried over, wedging himself between you and the paintings.

You got it- people seeing what you made hurt. Well, not all the time, but it had the potential to.

“Oh, just thinking about…. Macaroons. They’re little French almond biscuits.”

His eyelights seemed to grow brighter, “can i… see ‘em?”

A little confused with his hushed tone, you nodded and opened the box. You’d spent far longer than necessary on the presentation, nestling them in strips of coloured tissue paper. You were a little doubtful of their quality since you’d used magic ingredients for the bulk of them, but it didn’t feel any different when you were baking them.

Quickly, you glanced over your shoulder before motioning between Papyrus and the box.

_Do you want to have one now?_

“Where did you come from? Which area, I mean?” Couldn’t let Mr. Invasion of Privacy know what was going on. Plus, it was rude to eat something before tea, but Papyrus looked excited to try them.

Moving silently, Papyrus picked up one of the almond macaroons and popped it in his mouth. His teeth tugged into a smile after a few chews, looking like the cat who got the cream.

Once he swallowed, he gave you the most enthusiastic thumbs up you’d ever received, and you gestured towards the kitchen. You motioned for him to take another one- uneven numbers were a dead giveaway.

“huh? oh, Snowdin, though me an’ Sans used ta live in the capital apparently. i’m too young ta remember.”

“Was it like Newest Home?” 

Realising Papyrus probably had enough of being wedged against the wall, you moved over to the most worn part of the sofa and sat down. At least you wouldn’t park yourself on something valuable that was. Papyrus froze, looking between all of the furniture before sitting down at the other end of the sofa. He was so long that his knee crossed over the division between the cushions into your half.

The hairs on your neck stood up.

_It was a normal distance away. He wasn’t going to try anything. Calm down._

“nah. it was real rough, gangs an’ all that. Queen Toriel ‘ad squads of guards patrolling constantly. Before my bro was promoted, he’d be out every night.” His teeth twitched slightly, “i wouldn’t sleep ‘til he got home, used ta drive ‘im mad.”

“Were you peering out the window every night?” You teased, wishing you had eyes on the side of your head. That way Sans couldn’t sneak up on you, and you’d feel much less paranoid.

The quiet grating sound of bone against bone made you jump, but Papyrus was obviously in his own world, “yeah. we all were.”

What things were like Underground was never discussed. Those who knew didn’t want to remember, and those who didn’t nobody wanted to tell. Every monster you’d met had battle scars- even Undyne, who probably spent even more of her time in isolation when she was Underground, had torn fins pale scales. In fact, Papyrus was probably the least ‘damaged’ monster you’d seen.

“where did you live before Newest ‘ome?”

You settled back into the sofa, glancing wearily over your shoulder, “I grew up in Limoges, France. Then I went to University College London in England for three years when I was eighteen, and then Edinburgh University in Scotland for a year.”

“got a travel sickness heh.”

“Travel sickness?”

Papyrus wiggled his hands as he tried to explain, “ya know, when people travel lots? unless I got it wrong…”

“No, no! You’re right, English is just weird. Bug is a word for a sickness that gets spread around, like if you have a stomach bug. The saying is ‘travel bug’, but…”

He was looking at you so intently it made your toenails fucking retract into your body.

Your hermit defence mechanisms were ready to go, “I like travel sickness more. I’m adopting it.”

That intense look stayed for a moment, and you wondered if you’d fucked up, but it softened, and Papyrus seemed genuinely pleased, “nyeh heh, I’ma master linguist.”

No need to tell him ‘travel sickness’ was a real thing.

“So,” you couldn’t help but smile, “How’s all of your art stuff going?”

“’ow’s your gharial goin’?”

You tilted your head, “That’s cheating! But… okay I suppose. It took me longer to work out the pattern-“ A confused look from Papyrus- “The shapes of fabric I need to cut out than I thought it would, but now it’s just waiting for a room in the library to open up so I can cut all the fabric out.”

Unfortunately you hadn’t considered practicality much when picking a creature to create, and now you were stuck at the hurdle of physically not having enough space to craft it in your room. Doing dribs and drabs of it each evening increased the chances of you fucking up, and powering through it in an entire day made more sense, but that meant scouting out places you could hide yourself away across the city.

“annoyin’. maybe-“

“DINNER IS READY. PAPYRUS, PLEASE BRING OUR GUEST TO THE DINING ROOM.”

“time ta go.”

Papyrus got up quickly, and you scrambled after him as not to be left behind.

The dining room made you feel tiny. The ceilings were twice as tall as Papyrus, and the walls were adorned with military meddles and a tapestry depicting a bloodied and battered reindeer? With chainsaw teeth? A fire crackled warmly, and you were grateful when Papyrus gestured to the chair closest. Obviously skeletons didn’t have the same sensitivity to cold as you, and you were trying your hardest to suppress your shivers.

Sans appeared in the doorway, wine glass in hand, “GOOD EVENING, ALMA.”

“Good evening, Sans.”

You already hated it.

“YOU DIDN’T HAVE TROUBLE FINDING THE HOUSE, DID YOU?” His grin turned smug for a moment. At least he wasn’t trying to hide his inherent dickishness.

You shook your head, feeling so out of place. The chairs were obviously made for monsters- your head barely reached two thirds of the way up the back. At least it was cushioned, embroidered with strange symbols.

“The directions were very well written, thank you.”

He’d texted you a series of them, and after following the route with your finger on the map, it became clear that yes, they did lead you to the house, but you’d do a city tour first. You’d’ve been walking until midnight if you hadn’t checked.

You presented the box to him, “Thank you for having me.”

As you passed the box over to him, all humour disappeared from his face, and he angled his face away from the lid.

Not entirely sure what to say, you just babbled as he edged the box open slowly, eyelights glowing brightly, “They’re French biscuits called macaroons. There’s cinnamon, coffee, and almond flavour.”

His eyes scanned back and forth, and Papyrus glanced over at you.

“she offered, bro.”

“PAPYRUS!”

“Papyrus!” You shot him a look- at least Sans wouldn’t brutally murder him.

YOU THOUGHT THERE WAS ONE SNAKE IN THIS FAMILY, TURNED OUT THERE’S TWO.

Sans shot you a warning look, “HOW DID THEY TASTE, BROTHER?”

“real good,” Papyrus replied dreamily. You raised a hand to your chest- you were flattered!

“THANK YOU FOR THE GIFT, ALMA. PLEASE, WAIT FOR A MOMENT WHILE I PLATE UP THE DINNER.”

Grinning in a way you _really_ didn’t like, Sans popped back into the kitchen, and the sound of sizzling filled the air. Papyrus looked between you and the kitchen

“Oh my god Papyrus! What if he eats me!” You hissed quietly, only getting more antsy when he started to giggle. You’d never heard so many ‘nyehs’ in such little time- it was like a ‘nyeh’ machine gun.

“doin’ you a favour, don’t worry y’self.”

You picked up the spoon at your place and jokingly threatened Papyrus, which only made him giggle more.

“i’ve never been one ta turn down a spoonin’.”

In your attempt to hold back your laughter you just made a snort that was ten times more embarrassing, and failed to keep it in anyway.

“Jesus Christ…”

Finally, Sans returned, and the smell of meat filled the room. You hadn’t eaten it in so long that you’d forgotten what it tasted like, but your traitorous mouth filled with saliva.

Hey, you were allowed to _smell_ it.

The problem only escalated when Sans put the steak down in front of you, flashing a grin, “I PREPARE MY STEAK RARE. I HOPE THAT’S TO YOUR LIKING.”

The steak was leaking blood, and you questioned whether it’d even seen the pan. It smelled like iron, so thick it made your tongue curl. You’d been to enough fancy dinners to know this was an expensive cut, especially so if Sans went to the trouble of getting human food, which was as much of a novelty to monsters as magic was to humans. Papyrus looked at you between bites of his own dish with pity, but Sans.. was just staring. His bony fingers were laced together, chin resting atop them.

“YOUR FOOD IS GETTING COLD, ALMA.”

_So hurry up and take a bite._

Deep inside, you could see your mother turning in her bed at the mere prospect of what you were about to do, years of etiquette being flushed down the drain.

Carefully, you spoke, “I’m sorry, I cannot eat this.”

Sans’ predatory grin grew, “WHY?”

“I cannot eat this. It’s made from an animal.”

For a second his eye lights sparked, and your breath caught in your chest.

“GOOD, OTHERWISE MY RATATOUILLE WOULD’VE BEEN WASTED.”

Before you could blink, all three plates were whisked away and a clattering noise came from the kitchen. Papyrus kicked your shin, bringing you out of your ‘what the absolute fuck’ haze, and smiled, gold fang tip coated in blood.

You smiled back, gesturing towards the kitchen.

_What the fuck?_

When Sans returned, your steak had been split between the brothers’ plates- noticeably more on Papyrus’ dish- and yours was piled high with vegetables.

“I’M SORRY ABOUT THE MIX UP.”

“No you’re not.”

Wow, your survival instincts really were taking a back seat weren’t they. Papyrus rested his head in his hands, breath whistling as he sighed through his phalanges.

Standing right beside you, he slowly slid the plate onto the table, “YOU’RE RIGHT.”

The dinner progressed slowly, politely impersonal questions being batted back and forth. What did you work on? How long had you been in Newest Home? How long were you _staying_?

Just when your brain slid into the autopilot reserved for that kind of chatter, the panicky feeling in your gut came back. And for good reason.

“WHAT DID YOU THINK WHEN MONSTERS RETURNED TO THE SURFACE?”

Silently placing your cutlery on your plate, you took a moment to think.

“Honestly,” you said sheepishly, “I remember finding out a day late. I was in the laboratory, and I suppose with all the news people forgot I was down there? When I came out…. I was just confused.”

They stayed silent, so you continued.

“I was really mad that we hadn’t found out sooner, that was a big part of it. There are so many geologists specialising with earthquakes, I mean I don’t know much about their field, but I know they measure the, uh, ‘echo’ of vibrations underground. Surely a cavern huge enough to support an entire population would’ve come up? But that’s besides the point I guess.”

“WHAT DID YOU THINK OF US SETTING UP NEWEST HOME?” Sans pressed, eyelights focused, but not predatory. Just listening eyes.

“I didn’t see any issue with it. In fact,” you snorted a little, which you were sure would get you killed after diner was finished, “I remember how dumb the politicians looked. They were all, ‘Oh we don’t have the resources’ those kinds of lies, and then Monsters just made their own state. It was good.”

Both brothers stayed quiet, so you posed your own question, “What did you think of humans after you escaped?”

Now it was their turn to be quiet. Your heart rate slowed a little, and you tried to control your breathing. Was that insensitive? It seemed like that boundary had been crossed with your questions, but you weren’t the one trapped underground for hundreds of years.

“nothin’ like the history shows.”

“You had history shows?”

Papyrus nodded, “Yeah, uh, let me remember…. ‘Mew Mew Kissy Cutie’? I think that was it?”

Sans nodded in agreement, and you tried not to have a fucking aneurysm.

“I THINK THEY’RE PATHETIC.”

“The shows? Or the people?” God you wished you kept your mouth shut.

“THE PEOPLE. BEING AFRAID OF US WHEN YOU HAVE A POPULATION OF OVER SEVEN MILLION AND REFUSING TO RECOGNISE OUR RIGHTS TO THE SURFACE. PEOPLE TELLING US TO ‘GO BACK UNDER’.” He scoffed, scowl showing his razor-sharp teeth.

Silently, you looked over at Papyrus, who was just staring at the table just above his plate, “I’m really sorry people have said that. It’s wrong and disgusting, and I know it doesn’t help much, but there’s lots of people who want to leave you in peace, if that’s what you’d like.”

“IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”

He was staring again. You pressed back against the seat.

“FOR US TO BE LEFT ALONE?”

Mustering all of your will, you managed to look back into his eyelights, “I don’t think what humans want has anything to do with it.”

Silence settled over the table like a thick blanket, and you allowed yourself to look back at your empty plate. You felt wrong, like your skin was too tight, cutting uncomfortably into your muscle and fat. 

“alma, come into the livin’ room. my bro n’ i’ll clear up.”

As much as you wanted to high-tail it out of there, you looked to Papyrus, “Are you sure I can’t help?”

He smiled slightly, and that eased your nerves enough that you believed him when he insisted that they’d be fine. You didn’t look back at Sans as you pardoned yourself and left.

Alone for the first time since you’d arrived, you wrestled your phone from your pocket and turned it on.

No signal.

None. No data, either. Even navigating the tiniest, dingiest alleyways and underpasses you’d had some form of mobile connectivity. Curious, you tapped on the ‘emergency call’ icon, but all your phone did was flash a blank, white screen before turning black.

Would they notice if you were sick behind the sofa?

As you evaluated the pros and cons of just yeeting yourself out the window, Papyrus entered, cafetiere in one hand, and two mugs in the other. Sans followed, the macaroons neatly arranged on a plate, and another mug. Like Russian dolls, Papyrus pulled a little sugar pot and a milk jug out of the two mugs.

“y’alright?”

“Yes thank you, just admiring the…” Quick, pick something, “Walls.” FUCK.

“the walls? you got a fever?”

“They’re a nice colour, okay Papyrus?” 

Awkwardly, you waited for them to sit down so you could sit down without sitting in somebody’s seat. Everyone stayed still.

Finally, Papyrus sat in his seat from before, and Sans sat down on the raggedy cushion next to him. His gloved claws sank into the upholstery. That left you with the overstuffed armchair, but hey, it was better than the floor.

“SUGAR?”

You took a spoonful, and then Papyrus dumped the remainder of the pot into his coffee.

“Jesus! Do you want a new-“

“THAT’S HOW HE ALWAYS TAKES IT,” Sans sighed over his own cup- black, what a power move, “SHOCKING, I KNOW.”

“’ey, i don’t criticize your bitter hell drink, leave me alone.”

You motioned at your own mouth, “Does it not affect-“

“don’t get him started-“

“OH, IT DOES.”

Papyrus groaned, and Sans grinned like a madman, “THAT GOLDEN TOOTH ISN’T FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES.”

You looked between them, a shocked smile on your face, “Papyrus, you lost a tooth?”

“t’was in a fight, they knocked it out.”

“IT WAS A SLIGHT BLOW. IF YOU’D BRUSHED YOUR TEETH, IT WOULD STILL BE THERE.”

“slight? damn near took my head off!”

“THEY WERE 11 YEARS OLD, HOW STRONG COULD THEY BE?”

Watching the two of them bicker proved that, despite any superficial differences, siblings always took the piss out of each other.

You spent the next hour teasing more stories from them, which turned into a contest of ‘who can embarrass who’ the most while you sat and enjoyed one too many cups of coffee. Your heart was hammering by the time you checked your phone clock.

_12:03am_

“Damn! Uh, pardon me, I’m sorry, but I didn’t realise how late it was. I really need to get going home.”

Sans and Papyrus halted their intense, ‘how long can something stay on the ground before becoming part of the family’ debate, apparently having forgotten you were there at all.

“OH, LEAVING SO SOON?”

It was 1am?

“I have to head into the lab for 7am, I’m really sorry.”

“don’t worry about it. i’ll walk ya home.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to be of any inconvenience, and you have a lot to clean up.”

“YES. PAPYRUS, I COULD TAKE HER ON A SHORTCUT, GET HER HOME NICE AND QUICKLY.”

“There’s a shortcut between here and the laboratory?” What, was it traipsing through people’s gardens?

Papyrus looked at his brother so intently you were convinced they could communicate telepathically, “thanks bro, but i’m happy to. i’ll do my share of the cleanin’ when i’m back.”

“IF YOU’D LIKE,” Sans shrugged, although it was obvious it was certainly not alright, “BUT I’LL HOLD YOU TO THE CLEANING! IT BETTER BE CRUMBLESS WHEN I WAKE UP.”

“alright, alright, don’t worry.”

No shoes on, full of caffeine and sugar, you felt like a teenager talking to a teacher, “Thank you for having me, Sans, the meal was wonderful.”

“I’LL BE SEEING YOU SOON, ALMA.”

Hopefully not peering at you through your window, but you’d accepted your near complete lack of privacy at this point. Maybe it was time to just paint them over and develop rickets.

Your skin immediately tingled as you stepped into the icy cold air. However, it woke you up a little, unlike the dozy warmth of the sitting room. You walked next to Papyrus step for step (at least until you started falling behind), enjoying the quiet. Distantly, music thumped from an underground club.

“you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, just tired.”

Quiet again, but not for long. Papyrus rummaged around in his pockets, fishing out a cigarette and a lighter. He tilted his head in offering, and you declined. He didn’t have lungs to ruin, but you had yours for the rest of your life.

“you did well, if it helps.”

Looking up at him, cigarette shining off of his golden fang, it was no wonder nobody bothered you on the walk back. He wasn’t scary to you anymore, no more than anyone else, but there was some distant threat in his gait.

You smiled weakly, “Not so sure about that one, but thank you.”

He shrugged, “sans’ a difficult one. he woulda kicked you out if he didn’t like you a little.”

“I haven’t been bullied that much since I was eleven, Papyrus.”

“nyeh heh heh, can’t imagine ya bein’ bullied?”

“ _Really?_ ”

“yeah, weren’t ya a creepy kid? horror film style?”

Even when you shoved him, he barely faltered, just laughing at you more, “Oh my god, stoOoOop!”

“’stooooooooop’,” he parroted.

Melodramatically, you stomped away from him, laughing so hard you didn’t spot the approaching lamppost until you’d walked square into it.

“oh my… oh fuckin’ stars… are you… alright?”

“God, I should’ve been _aborted_.”

He caught up, still ‘nyeh’ing away, and put his hand on your shoulder. You were so shocked you didn’t even register it until he’d removed it and stuffed it into his pocket. Heart hammering, but not to the usual ‘Oh god I can’t breathe’ extent, you tried not to freak out. It was okay. He patted your shoulder because you’re friends. That’s all. 

“think it’s bedtime.”

“Heh, you’re telling me.”

You could still feel the ghost of that pressure for the rest of the walk home, the indents left by the most knobbly of his phalanges. When he seemed especially distracted, you rolled your shoulder, the new feeling foreign and uncomfortable. 

There was no way you’d admit it, not even on your deathbed, but… it wasn’t the worst feeling. Maybe if you were less of a hermit freak, it’d be less of a big deal.

Finally, you were outside your block of flats. 

“Thank you for having me, and for walking me home,” you said, bowing your knees in a strange half-curtsey.

“n’problem, Alm. sweet dreams.”

“You too… ‘Rus?”

His teeth tilted into a cheesy grin, and you couldn’t help but smile back as he walked out of the car park, lighting another cigarette for the journey back.

On the way up you messaged Violeta, who’d already fallen asleep if the darkness from under her door was anything to go by, and sent a final thanks to Sans. You quickly got ready for bed and slipped under the covers, shaking from cold. Just as you were nodding off, you remembered something.

Smiling to yourself, you set his contact from ‘papyrus’ to ‘sweet tooth’ in your phone, and finally bunched the covers around you to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sIsTer SnApPed
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter :) Let me know what you think! Also, shout out to @popatochisp for the tooth loss story


	8. Torpor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief mention of sexual assault in this chapter. Please read responsibly.

“Hi, you’ve reached Violeta Lazarov, and I want to put my toes up your nose. Please leave a message~”

No matter what, that always made you cackle. It was clever, really- if anyone was mad at you, they either calmed down or were too afraid to be rash. You didn’t leave a message though, you had stuff to do. In between your tweezers, a tiny cricket kicked and struggled. Your heart went out to them, really, you’d hate to be eaten by a spider, but it was necessary. Seeing the yellow of your tweezers, the spider scuttled to the front of the glass so quickly it was like she teleported.

“Here it comes,” you murmured, quickly lifting the lid and dropping the cricket into the enclosure, “Be good.”

As soon as the cricket landed, she went completely still. Understandably confused, the cricket waved their antennae, no doubt tasting spider, but that was of little use. Slowly, it edged towards where she was crouching in wait. Each of her articulated joints, so clever, so delicate, inched forward. Subconsciously, you held your breath and watched as the cricket approached unknowingly.

In the blink of an eye, it was over. _P.audax_ was crouched on top of the cricket as its legs gave a last, futile kick. You watched fondly, like a mother watching their daughter dance on stage for the first time.

“Good job, you’re so clever, aren’t you?” You cooed.

She ignored you.

You huffed, turning away from the enclosure and checking the list of tasks you’d left yourself yesterday. You’d scrawled it so quickly it took a good few minutes to decipher whatever you’d written.

_paper, Sellotape, paper scissors, fizzy drink_

Wow, past-you was planning a wild party.

Turning the mug upside-down to get the last drops of coffee, you put the mug on the desk and readied yourself for a long day of gel plating. It was Desislava’s birthday, and Violeta had asked if she could make up lost time overnight since she wanted to skype her at midnight her time. It was cute, and she’d put up with enough of your erratic hours, so you were more than happy to agree. Besides, after the debacle of the dinner party, it was nice to have some peace and quiet. Ever since Sans had all but threatened you outside of your flat, it’d been borderline impossible to relax at home. 

At least the lab was restricted to authorised scientists- no amount of social standing could get him past the receptionist.

So confident in your security, you almost screamed when you flicked the lab light on, revealing a tall figure hunched over the huge collection of slides spread out over a table. Fins flexing, Undyne turned to face you. 

After what felt like an eternity of just staring at each other, she tilted her head towards the equipment you’d set up the night before.

“What are you waiting for, S1?”

You blinked, and trying your best not to turn your back to her, headed over to the equipment. It was a simple process, but being watched made your hands shake. Just as you went to fill a well with the stain, a cold, clammy hand rested on your shoulder. You jerked, jabbing the tip of the pipette into the gel and squirting the stain you’d spent hours preparing everywhere. You knocked over the plastic pot for used pipette tips as you whirled around, back pressed hard against the table edge. She was so tall your head was tilted almost completely back to look her in the eye.

“Calm down, I can smell your cortisol.”

“Is there something wrong?”

Her grin widened, “Who are you talking to?”

“…Royal Scientist Undyne?”

She stepped back slightly, but you still clung to the table like a limpet, “No, nothing wrong. I just wondered how things were coming along.”

Not letting her out of your sight, you motioned your head back at the machine humming behind you, “I’m about to do some gel electrophoresis and see whether or not the cells took up the new DNA.”

“DNA?”

“Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid.”

“Oh yes. It’s different for everyone, correct?”

Why did it sound like she knew the answer?

You swallowed, “Yes, apart from between clones, and even then environmental factors will make changes to the genome as they age.”

Her claws clicked together when she clasped her hands, looking far too enthusiastic.

“I remember this human falling down. It was pulverised of course, screamed whenever we touched its legs, but there was this fibrous mass on their liver. Like somebody had glued it on. We asked what it was, but they were nonverbal at that point- we should’ve left the oral biopsy for later.”

You wretched slightly, trying to suppress the shudder than ran up your body. Of course Undyne noticed, and she just giggled. 

Who knew a giggle could sound so sinister outside of a horror film?

“I remembered it last night, looked through some of the textbooks the ambassadors left here. They had cancer, a tumour created by little blips in their code. You can never be perfect with programming like that.”

Her lip curled, “That’s why I don’t understand Queen Toriel’s absolute insistence about your involvement in this project.”

Project?

You stayed silent, staring at her, but Undyne took that as your consent and continued. 

“Her Majesty Queen Toriel is rather infatuated with the human idea of zoological and botanical parks. Obviously, I have never been to one. Yourself and S2 would be advisers regarding the enclosures and animal welfare. You’re up to it, surely?”

Carefully, you responded, “I’m very flattered, and I’ll ask Violeta, but we’re very busy with our main research. It wouldn’t be fair to commit knowing we couldn’t make the best contribution possible.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to phrase it as a question.”

Probably using some monster magic, Undyne pulled out an impossibly huge folder from the pocket of her lab coat, dumping it on the desk. Her grin grew when you flinched away from the noise.

You just stared at the ground, using every ounce of your being not to scream as Undyne made her way to the door.

“You always make me laugh, S1! I’ll be seeing you soon!”

Luckily, she closed the door behind her.

You could scream all you wanted.

…..  
The stage was set.

You’d cleared the kitchen of your miscellaneous depression clutter, giving you enough room to spread out the ingredients you’d just purchased. After a good hour spent in the supermarket, you’d given in and messaged Papyrus about the symbols on the tin. Who’d’ve thought magic had an expiration date? 

There was a tin of lean beans and a tin of mean beans- the difference escaped you, so hopefully they’d balance each other and leave you with ‘beans’, a stoic onion, ‘fire-resistant’ pasta, some fresh tomatoes and garlic. Hopefully, supplemented with the tiny jars of spices you’d brought from home, it’d make a decent pasta e fagioli- something you could microwave, eat with minimal chewing, and wash up quickly.

Something on your schedule had been underlined three times with different highlighters, circled, and… sequined? You squinted at it, making out the letters through the layers of decoration.

‘stitch stitch bitch’

Oh yeah! With everything going on, you’d abandoned what was currently just oddly-shaped cuts on fabric on the right side of your bed. You really should finish it- nothing added to the sad feeling of a room like an unfinished project.

But first, it was soup time.

With Lana del Rey crooning from your tinny phone speaker, and the sounds of the city passing by drifting in from the window, it felt like you were back in Edinburgh. The less you focused on whatever the strangers were saying, the more it sounded like every other language you didn’t understand.

Calming. Nobody cared about you here.

In an act of, for once, was completely reasonable paranoia, you’d purchased and sewn extra layers of fabric onto your blinds. Not even a silhouette could be seen from outside- Violeta had spent a good ten minutes dancing wildly in your room while you stood outside and tried to guess what dance she was doing. If Sans was going to be unapologetic about his creepy behaviour, you would unapologetically make it difficult for him.

After shooting off a quick message to Vi, you read through the paperwork Undyne had saddled you with while the soup simmered. The plans were ambitious to say the least, and assuming that the animals didn’t _need_ to be fed as long as there were high levels of atmospheric magic, it was feasible. It would follow the path the human took through the Underground, starting with an outdoor garden modelled after ancient ruins of Monster architecture. Next was an indoor taiga biome, then a walk-through aquarium with above and below water walkways, finally finishing with a mountainous, arid biome.

The oven timer rang out, making you jolt your pen across the page and mutilate the meticulous sketch of a ‘slack-jawed tin opener’.

Vegetables bobbing as you shifted the pot off of the lit hob, the nostalgic smell of tomatoes and onions and garlic hit you with a wave of nostalgia. You’d cooked with your mother a lot at home, but as you became more and more absorbed in your work, your health had taken a back seat. Even now, two of your three daily meals consisted of coffee, and the final was typically some pre-packaged salad from the clearance section.

Saliva pooled in your mouth, and you unashamedly scooped until your bowl was full to the brim.

_It was summer. Why were you eating something so hearty when the heat sat still in the simmering kitchen. **She** was at the counter, reading the instructions on the package before tossing it into the bin._

_She shrugged, claiming it would take a moron to mess up instant noodles._

_When they came out crunchy and undercooked you called it al-dente, and the smile **She** shot you made your heart skip. Still, you cleaned up before her mother came home and made you something more weather appropriate._

_**Her hands were clammy.** _

Hunched over the counter, face damp from steam, you focused back into the real world of purple ovens and unlabelled spice jars. With your oven gloves on, you carried the soup to the table and propped up your phone against the zoo reference papers.

Monsters had similar senses of humour to humans. At least, it seemed that way if the morbidly titled compilations of species-wide in-jokes were anything to go by. You scrolled through the recommended videos idly. It hadn’t been long since you’d first arrived, but the improvement in your reading comprehension was staggering. The letters were nearly second nature by that point, and the abbreviations used in descriptions and text messages made more sense than before. 

Finally, a title caught your eye.

_Managing nightmares._

The video thumbnail was blank, just a black rectangle, but hovering your mouse over it revealed a series of stills. It looked like a formally dressed pompom giving a talk, and hey, you wouldn’t be a scientist if you didn’t like to learn new things.

Soup bowl clutched between your hands, you let yourself slouch back as the monster shuffled into frame. Obviously, whatever chair had been provided was far too small for their hulking frame. The background, while appearing pure black in the thumbnail, was made up of mottled grey bricks. The clutter on the desk looked untouched, too deliberate in its messiness to actually belong to anyone. It was a set.

_“Good evening. I am Doctor Eelswelp.”_

You could hear their voice echoing against the brick, shadows of sentences smothering the quiet. 

It sounded like they were talking at you from the bathroom.

_“This is the introductory lecture to my series on managing night terrors.”_

Your spoon clinked against the bowl. Doctor Eelswelp continued.

_“Sleep is essential to the monster soul. Magic usually diverted to higher cognitive function can be utilised in making repairs to the physical body, and the emotional state. The formation of memories is especially reliant on sleep, confirmed by the late Royal Scientist’s work.”_

_“Living in a high-stress environment can induce nightmares. During nightmares, energy is diverted away from the healing and growth of the physical form, but enhances memory, especially of disturbing or traumatic events. As I’m sure you’ll understand, this is counterproductive in a post-emergence society.  
“In this lecture series, I will propose a sleep therapy program for the post-emergence monster through a series of anonymous case studies, some of which the subject is no longer with us to give their personal perspective on the treatment’s effectiveness.”_

The soup ceased to smell of anything. Vaguely, you were aware of the spoon nudging past your lips, something warm and thick filling your mouth. Mechanical. Motor oil.

_“First, we will introduce Subject 1. Subject 1 was a secretary to the a senior manager of R.A.I.N, the government branch responsible for ensuring the entire population had access to clean water during our time Underground. Subject 1 lived a wholly unextraordinary life- deceased parents, no siblings, but a decent relationship with their mate._

_“When walking home from work, Subject 1 was cornered by a now disbanded gang in a cut-through between two tower blocks. Their mate had refused to pay the protection fee necessary, but there is no excuse for what unfolded.”_

Your touchpad barely responded to your trembling fingers, making you grit your teeth in frustration.

You didn’t want to think.

To remember.

_“Subject 1 was violently sexually assual-“_

Finally, you managed to close the window, chest heaving.

The left over soup was poured back into the saucepan- you tried to take another bite, but immediately wretched- before you mechanically went through the motions of brushing your teeth and checking the flat for intruders that sneaked in during the video.

Your half-sewn gharial looked like a mass of limbs and skin in the dim light.

Just as you were turning your alarm clock on, the phone buzzed against the bedside table.

A doodle of a gharial with eight legs, ‘sup?’ written below it in tiny handwriting.

You put the phone face down on the table and rolled over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I'm sorry for the wait on this chapter. It's the middle of exam season, and I've been struggling a lot generally with my health, but writing this helps. Let me know what you think, and stay safe.


	9. Euthanasia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's graphic descriptions of animal suffering and mention of animal death after the art supply shop, so please read carefully.

It was a bright, cold morning. The sky was completely devoid of clouds, such a clear, pale blue it made you wonder whether there was any atmosphere at all. Being powered by magic, Newest Home didn’t produce any significant air pollution, but the air still seemed clearer the higher you headed up the road. As you drove up the winding mountain road, you huddled back into the warmth of the car seat. Violeta tapped along to the ‘Cheezy 2000s Beetz’ on the radio, mumbling to herself in Bulgarian as she negotiated the sharp curves and corners. Finally, the turning the monster receptionist had circled several times on the paper directions came up, and you nudged Vi.

“Turn left here, there should be enough space to park.”

“Okey dokes.”

The drawing hadn’t exaggerated- it was literally a dirt patch cleared from foliage, about one foot longer than the car itself. With the precision of a professional pipetter, Violeta swung the car into the space, only having to adjust a little before clapping her hands together.

“I’m the master of parking.”

“Parking Picasso,” you smiled, somewhat-reluctant to leave the warmth of the car. It would be even colder this high up than in the city.

Yanking off the plaster, you flung the car door open and immediately gasped.

“Holy _shit_ it’s cold.”

Despite living in Britain for five years, Violeta had never gotten used to the cold. Her family, coming from considerable wealth, spent their summers inland and their winters by the coast where the weather was milder. If she was cold in Edinburgh, she’d be freezing here. 

You cackled, catching her frantically pulling on her jumper and then her coat when you reached behind you to grab your gloves.

“This is it Almy, they’re sending us up here to die.”

“We better work quickly then,” you teased, tossing the scarf you’d been eyeing at her. You were shivering, but this was a matter of pride.

Plus, you could lose your hands and the work would continue- didn’t need fingers to think. As long as one of you had all of their digits, that’s all that mattered.

The other piece of paper you’d been given was a far more intricate map. According to the notes scrawled at the bottom, it was through a ‘dense patch of spiky trees’. You’d take a turning at the rock shaped like a froggit and carry on straight past the ‘cold cactus’. Then, follow the path to the crater.

After ensuring you had everything- a trip back didn’t sound fun- you and Violeta set off into the forest. 

You’d assumed spiky trees meant coniferous trees, that there was some language barrier, but no.

Trees covered in literal… golden studs? They shone like metal in the dull light, but there was no sign of adhesive. When you reached out with the fearlessness of a dumb scientist seeing something cool, Violeta pulled your hand back.

“God, I thought I was meant to be the impulsive one. Look!”

She motioned for you to move closer.

“…Promise you won’t push me.”

Her jaw hung open, “Are you kidding me? Just look!”

Narrowing your eyes in faux-suspicion, you shot her a look before leaning in closer. Each stud was covered in fine hairs, sure to lodge in the skin and irritate or infect.

“Do you think they evolved like that? They haven’t been described before,” Violeta mused, taking a closer look herself.

You shook your head, “Spines and hairs on plants have evolved multiple times, it’s convergent evolution. If I had to guess, all of the magic acted like some kind of mutagen.”

Violeta’s head snapped to face me, “Really?” She pulled herself away from the plant.

“Probably only at really high concentrations. That barrier was there for thousands of years, and the only strange things about these trees is the colour of the spines. Us living in the city won’t matter. It’s like accepting that the sun gives you cancer.”

Her face stayed stoic, weighing up your words in her mind, before she laughed, “Always the voice of reason!”

“I know, I should’ve kept that going, really freaked you out.”

“It’s not me, I am the embodiment of cold, scientific fact! Can you imagine how the news would spin it?” She made a rectangle with her fingers, the shape of a headline, “Monster magic- mutagen mayhem!” 

You motioned down the path, “You missed your calling. Come on, I don’t fancy walking back through here in the dark.”

You kept on chatting as you walked deeper into the forest, but the deeper you got, the quieter you both became. The familiar birdsong and crunch of deer hooves on the leaves in the far distance was interrupted only by yours and Violeta’s musings over the map.

It took a panicky half hour to find the froggit rock, at which point you’d never been so happy to trip over a rock hidden by dense foliage. Obviously Violeta was concerned- she fucking referenced Shrek as she pulled you out of the bramble patch.

“ThAt’S a NiCe BoUlDeR.”

“God Violeta, I will eat you.”

“Eat me then yeet me?” She grinned wickedly.

You poked your tongue out, “If that’s what it takes.”

Valiantly, you carried on, playfully arguing about whether Bear Grylls would eat a human if he had to. You’d completely forgotten you were in some strange woods on the over side of the world from your home when Violeta yelled.

The cactus! It was… an ordinary cactus, a little disappointing compared to the bedazzled trees and fun rocks, but seeing one so far north was a little entertaining.

From there, it was easy to find the path. It started out half a person wide, making you push through brambles and side-step over tiny creeks as you worked towards what you hoped was the cavern. Slowly, the path began to widen, the foliage now barely brushing you as you walked past. The weak winter sun barely penetrated the canopy with its white light. 

Just as your fingertips were starting to tingle, the path converged onto a road running perpendicular to it. Cobbled in iridescent blue stones, you wondered how you hadn’t heard about it. You supposed all of the monsters knew about it- it was like asking you about the Eiffel Tower, or Violeta about the Rila Monastery. 

Cautiously, you stepped out onto the road. Nothing happened, the stones didn’t shift and swallow you whole, but it still felt… off. Probably just the excess magic- human souls just weren’t accustomed to it. Violeta followed, mouth open and ready to talk, but stayed quiet when she saw your expression.

Four thousand years underground.

No sunlight. No plants. No weather or seasons or stars. 

Looking up and seeing nothing but black.

Violeta’s gentle nudge brought you back, and she offered a lopsided grin before setting off. You faltered, feet stuck, before jogging to catch up with her. 

Obviously you’d been walking through the woods for miles- it was only thirty minutes before the path turned into the gaping mouth of the mountain, usually invisible during the day due to the cloud cover. The cobblestones tapered off, a stray brick almost tripping you up as you wandered around the opening. It was a pretty basic visit- you’d both collect samples and write descriptions, and then navigate the huge, folded key in the lab to identify them. 

“How many species do they want us to collect?” Violeta asked, spilling dozens upon dozens of pots out onto the ground from her canvas knapsack. 

“Thirty for the walled garden and forty for the zoo. I don’t imagine they’ll use them all, but I’d rather take this one trip.”

“Hey, Alms?”

You turned just in time for the sample pot to smack you square on the forehead.

“For fucks sake!” You hissed before covering your mouth, embarrassed as your explicative echoed into the darkness. Violeta clutched her stomach as she cackled, smudging her face with dirt.

Resigning yourself to the barrage of giggles, you headed to the far corner of the clearing and set up your bag as a make-shift barricade, “I’m glad I entertain you.”

Finally, Violeta pulled herself together, letting out a loud sigh as she headed to the opposite side, right by the cave entrance, “Haaaaa, same~”

You settled into your work, methodically taking a cutting of each plant you saw and writing a description on a slip of paper before putting them both in a sample pot. Steadily, you sampled your way through the foliage, careful to disturb the ground and give any animals a chance to escape. It felt slow, but by the time you’d run out of sample pots you’d nearly met Violeta in the middle. Out in the open you were especially vulnerable to the cold wind blowing from…

“Is that breeze coming from inside the cave?” Violeta asked, voice muffled from the scarf wrapped around her face.

“I guess? There’s the opening on the other side of the Underground, the one where the human fell in.”

“You’re right! The human nearly broke their matchstick neck on the way down!”

“What?”

Violeta turned to you, puzzled, “I didn’t say anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, “You sure about that Vi?”

She held her hands up, huffing slightly, “Wow, you throw one sample pot at somebody and suddenly you’re a trickster full of mischief.”

The chuckle in response sounded uncertain even to you, but Vi was none the wiser. Looking over at the pots, you’d collected around two thirds of the samples. You skimmed over the plants, trying to determine whether it was even worth continuing to sample doubles, when that same _voice_ ECHO sounded from the cave.

“So determined! It was fun watching them fail over and over~”

‘And over’ bounced back and forth, distorting and becoming deeper as it did so. This time, it was Violeta who broke the silence.

“Hey, Alma, was that…?”

“I think it’s time we went home. We can collect more samples if we need to.”

Violeta nodded. The air felt… wrong.

Silently, you started piling the sample pots into your bag, head whipping around at every sound. The (you refused to call it a voice, refused to acknowledge that there was something capable of _owning_ it) weird echo came from in the cave, but your alarms were going off from every angle.

Bag full to capacity, Violeta got up, walking over to the other side of the clearing to ‘inspect’ something far more quickly than her usual gait. As you stood up to follow her, backpack unbalancing you with its size, something _touched your ankle_.

With a shriek, you lurched forward to Violeta’s side, tugging at her arm.

Looking at you like the crazy uncle who’d had too much to drink at Christmas dinner, but knowing better than to question it, she let herself be guided out of the clearing and down the path.

Once your breathing had slowed and the grip on her arm had loosened, Violeta cleared her throat, “Are you okay? You don’t usually get freaked out like that- there wasn’t even a loose pipette tip!”

You tried to chuckle lightheartedly, but it just came off as manic, “Oh no, I’m fine, just thought I… smelled a bear!”

“How do you know what a bear smells like?”

“Well, it might not’ve been a bear, but it was that carnivore smell you know?”

Violeta nodded, and you pretended not to see the uncertainty in her eyes, “Yeah, yeah. It was time we got going too.”

The rest of the walk home you let Violeta lead the way, allowing you to check behind you constantly without judgement. She was patient and knew when to just accept your oddities but freaking her out would only freak you out more. The cold cactus was easy to find, and it only took fifteen minutes to find the froggit rock before you were back on the path. That old town road.

It was a relief to get in the car, and even though the altitude kept you cold, you could see heat rising from the city. It was uncharacteristically hot today, and the prospect of being cooped up in the lab after your hike made Violeta antsy. She tapped impatiently on the steering wheel as you took inventory of the stock.

“Alma, come on, nobody cares about a few sample pots. You’ve counted them twice already.”

You sent her a chilling look in the rear-view mirror, “Somebody has to check!”

“If you just accept that you can count, I’ll get you a frappé.”

The boot slammed shut, and Violeta grinned at you as you strapped yourself in and put on your sunglasses.

“Didn’t know you were so corrupt~”

“Only for frappés, Alma.”

She snorted, “Your only vice!” 

As lovely as it’d been, it was a relief to head back down that country road to the city, Mount Ebott looming behind you, big enough to swallow the entire world whole.

…..

“You sure you don’t want me to walk with you? It’s getting late?”

You had been convincing Violeta that you didn’t need an escort to the art supply shop for the past twenty minutes, but she wasn’t buying it. Obviously, your little freak out early had indeed put her on edge, and she eyed you suspiciously as you explained what you had to buy.

“Don’t you have scissors at home?”

It was hard to resist the urge to roll your eyes, but you just about managed, “Yes, fabric scissors. I don’t want to blunt them by cutting paper when I could just get another pair for that.”

“Hmmmmm.”

For a moment she just rubbed her chin, obviously the centre of her nervous system, before finally nodding, “I’ll walk with you until that sock shop, okay?”

You nodded, slinging your bag onto your aching shoulders, “What’s rattled you? I thought you were accustomed to my wild ways.”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

The automatic doors opened, cold air suppressing the wave of panicky nausea that washed over you. Those were the worst words.

“Talk? Is everything okay?”

For a few minutes you walked in agonising silence as Violeta tried to find the right words.

“I know… it’s getting to that time of year again.” 

Your head whipped towards her

“And, before you say you don’t know what I’m talking about, locking yourself at home for a week and not answering any calls is hardly subtle when we work in the same lab. The amount of times ‘your grandma had died’ you’d be causing a global shortage.”

All you could do was grimace- the embarrassment of being caught out in a lie.

“I’m not saying to stop- I don’t know what you do, could be a spa break for all I know- but… I’m here to talk if you need to.”

Violeta made your heart melt. You smiled softly at her, briefly interlocking your fingers, “Thank you, Vi. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Conveniently, the sock shop was in sight, so no awkward, post-serious talk conversation would need to be carried.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, we can get tea on the way,” you said, pulling her into a hug. Surprised, it took a moment for Vi to respond, but when she did she hugged you so hard it near broke your spine.

“Sounds good. Have fun buying paper scissors, you old woman.”

“Have fun not appreciating the difference between paper scissors and fabric scissors.”

She laughed like a fucking crane, making the cat monster walking past cross the road away from her, only making you giggle along with her.

TWO GIGGLY CLOWNS.

Leaving one earbud out, you put on your ‘evening walk- cold dry weather’ playlist and made your way to the just-closing craft shop. Luckily, your supplies weren’t in the labyrinth of the fabric room, so you were in and out before the crucial fifteen-minute period just before closing. When you were a teenager, you’d worked retail, and nothing made you more homicidal then somebody coming in five minutes before closing ‘jUsT tO bRoWsE’.

Backpack full, you set off. Your feet ached awfully from the hike before. No wonder monsters didn’t mention it- who would want to make that trek back. 

Especially with.. whatever made that _echo_.

Maybe you should mention it to somebody? If there was a monster trapped in the Underground, they’d need help. Still, it’d been years since monsters escaped, and they’d been up to cobble the path. They’ve heard. It was like that old, creepy story where a guard heard somebody begging to be let out of their coffin when they’d died twenty years prior.

Let sleeping dogs lie.

As you considered the ergonomics of having a kazoo attached to your coffin rather than a bell, a strangled squeal caught your attention. You faltered, going completely still. Silence. Chalking it up to a long day, you took another step, and it sounded again. 

_For fuck’s sake_. 

It was coming from an alleyway between two buildings. You’d done dumb shit in the past, but even the most inebriated Alma knew not to go into dark alleyways alone in the middle of the night. Your line of sight was blocked by multiple bins, lids piled neatly on. 

Maybe it would be safe to check…?

The longer you considered, the quieter the squealing sounds became. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you crept towards the bins and peeked over them.

A rat, mottled brown, was caught in a trap. The hammer was different from the ones at home- it was sharp. Blood had clotted around it and dribbled out of the rat’s mouth each time it struggled vainly to escape. Their teeth were stained red.

Taking a look over your shoulder at the empty street, you stepped into the alleyway. Seeing you approach, the rat screamed again, scrabbling for purchase against the floor. 

“Shhh shh shh, it’s okay, I’m just going to get you out of there.”

A fragment of plywood had been left behind. Sacrificing your scarf, you held the rat’s torso gently, giving them a moment to wriggle before holding them. Using the plywood as the world’s worst crowbar, you pried the hammer open, and the rat darted forward. You closed your scarfed hand around them, bundling them in the fabric.

The little rat struggled in your grip, letting out that awful squeal again. Obviously they hadn’t been trapped for long- every jostle and wriggle made more hot blood soak through the fabric of your scarf. You went to hold them more tightly, stop the bleeding, but their shriek of pain made you flinch back. What did you do?

Helplessly, you stood in the mouth of the alleyway, hands covered in rat blood. 

You highly doubted there was a vet in Newest Home you could walk to, let alone one that would help a rat. Cars weren’t common, and even if there was a taxi service you didn’t want to loosen your hold. Fingers slick, you went to apply more pressure, and the weakness of the reaction frightened you even more than those awful sounds the trap made when you pried it open.

“GOOD EVENI… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

_Jesus_.

Of course, the least sympathetic monster in all of Newest Home just _had_ to show up.

Sans looked fucking disgusted, “ARE YOU TORTURING THAT RAT?”

Luckily for him, you couldn’t hold the rat _and_ flip him off, “No. I heard something squealing, and they were stuck in the trap. I’ve… is there a vet nearby?”

Sighing like you’d dragged him over, Sans walked over to you.

“KEEP A FIRM HOLD ON HIM, I’LL TAKE A LOOK.”

“Do you even know vertebrate biology?”

“ARE YOU ALWAYS CREEPING AROUND ALLEYWAYS?”

_Do it for your rat son._

Making sure you had a firm grip on him, you let Sans peel away the blood-soaked layers of the scarf. The hammer had cut through the skin, a superficial wound, but from the sick clicking sound their torso made as it wriggled, it’d crushed the rat’s rib cage.

Sand covered the rat with the scarf again, “I THINK THE KINDEST THING WOULD BE TO KILL IT.”

You took a step back, “But, a vet-“

“YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I THAT ITS LUNGS ARE PUNCTURED.”

…He was right. 

Their eyes, so dark, were glazing over. Each struggle made more blood coat their wonderful little whiskers. 

Since when were your eyes watering?

“I… I can’t do it.”

When he held his hand out, there was no smugness in his expression. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything- his usual grin lacked its usual pompous mirth.

A man doing his duty.

You handed over the scarf.

“Please don’t… hurt him.”

“OF COURSE NOT. IT’S… IT’S ONLY A RAT. WAIT THERE.”

You didn’t protest and walked away from the alley down the street. A tear escaped, sliding down your cheeks, and before the clean-freak part of your brain rebooted, you’d wiped it away with your bloodied hand.

Hopefully, nobody would walk down the road.

It wasn’t long, a minute at most before Sans reappeared with your scarf.

He seemed at a loss for words (for once), just watching you hold yourself together.

“Thank you.”

Your voice was strangled. This seemed to surprise Sans even more than seeing you stood in the street covered in rat blood, but he recovered quickly.

“IT’S ALRIGHT… IT WAS THE RIGHT THING TO DO.”

A bony hand briefly rested on your shoulder, and your head whipped up to look at him.

“YOU TRIED TO HELP. THAT WAS ENOUGH.”

Embarrassed, you managed a watery smile before shrugging his hand off, “I guess.”

Tutting, Sans looked you up and down, probably aghast at your dirty clothes and ragged walking boots, “YOU CAN’T BE SEEN OUT LIKE THIS. I’LL TAKE YOU HOME- I KNOW A SHORTCUT.”

Obviously your stranger danger alarm was out of batteries because your brain saw nothing wrong with going down a strange road with a scary acquaintance, “That would be nice, thank you.”

His hand rested on your shoulder, and the entire world blurred into nothing. Gravity seemed to turn on and off randomly for what could’ve been no longer than a split second but felt like minutes. Not prepared for solid ground, you crumpled to the floor. 

The tarmac of your building’s car park.

Apparently Sans’ empathy was drained, and his shark-toothed grin had returned, “NYEH HEH, HOW’S THE WEATHER DOWN THERE?”

Your brain wanted to question what he just did, how he did it, and why he didn’t warn you.

You told your brain to shut up and enjoy not having to walk the streets looking like a serial killer.

“A little humid,” you muttered as you picked yourself up, “Thank you for the, uh, shortcut.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME. I’D BE A TELE-POOR MEMBER OF THE ROYAL GUARD IF I DIDN’T HELP.”

His laughter echoed around the car park as you face-palmed.

“Goodnight, Sans.”

“GOODNIGHT, HUMAN.”

And, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope this chapter is a little better than the last. Hope it's nice and warm wherever you are.


	10. Fissure

The air in the bathroom was starting to get stale.

You weren’t sure when you noticed it, but now you did you couldn’t focus on anything else. It coated the inside of your nose and mouth like tar until all you could taste was yourself existing. Groaning, you lifted yourself from the nest you’d made in the bathtub and investigated the darkness. The looming shadow of the blockade you’d crafted made you jump, heart racing. It wasn’t the best- the big furniture was pressed up against the front door- but it’d make a noise and alert you if somebody managed to pick the lock.

How long had it been? Keeping track of the time only made it tick by slower, but the varying stages of darkness were so hard to identify in a new place. There was no light pollution, only a square of light from the window cast on the bathroom floor.

It wasn’t there yet, but you knew your neck would ache like a bitch when you eventually came out of your den. Even with all of your pillows and your duvet settled across the bottom of the bath, it was no mattress. Biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, you jiggled your foot in a poor attempt to stave away the pins and needles creeping down from your knee. Overall, the entire experience was unpleasant but… it was better than whatever would happen if you slept in the main room.

If you ever slept in a bed again.

The snacks you’d gathered from your trip to the supermarket were piled up neatly in labelled tubs, wrappers already thrown away into separate wheelie bins outside. It was sugary, salty, fatty _crap_ , but it was ready to eat.

You prided yourself in being- or at least appearing- rational, in control. Binge buying so much shit you knew would clog up your arteries and make your blood salty was hardly cohesive with ‘Alma’. Whoever she was- in the dark, curled up like a foetus in the bathtub, you doubted she existed at all. She lived a private existence, locked inside your head and denied attention until these stagnant weekends.

Marooned on an island of your own creation.

Groaning, you ran your hands down your face- somebody had seen.

Most of the groceries had gone into your backpack and tote bag, but an extra-large bag of sweet popcorn was held securely under one arm when you bumped into Papyrus. It was the first time you’d seen him out in the middle of the day, a novelty in and of itself, but you were eager to get home before those dull pricks of light in his sockets spotted your spoils.

“big night?”

“Hah, yeah, a party. Of one.”

Papyrus shrugged, “nyeh heh, nice, nobody naggin’ at you to share.”

You quirked an eyebrow, “Didn’t think you’d have to share, Sans comes off as very…” Vain, self-centred, one of those people who could eat the entirety of a KFC and not even break out as a repercussion, “Health conscious.”

“yeah, that’s what he wants you to think.” He glanced over his shoulder before shuffling closer _you tried not to flinch away_ , “less sweet stuff, that’s for me, heh, but anythin’ greasy? gone.”

“It’s hard to imagine him being a grease gremlin.”

“fry fiend.”

“Crisp connoisseur.”

“nyeh heh heh, yeah. my bro’s the best.”

Papyrus was still all bone and sharp edges, but his expression… softened. 

After a moment of silence, you patted the bag under your arm, “Well, I best be heading back. I’m on my lunch break from the lab, and Violeta will eat me if I’m late.”

“have a good one. i’ll, uh, message you this weekend if you need any help with…” His expression was hopeful, like a dog who’d messed up the trick but was still such a good boy.

You shifted the bag on your shoulders, “Sure thing- I’ll save some pretzels for you to take back to Sans. Saturday at 11pm? I’m in flat 13, fifth floor.”

“great. i’ve gotta head off, but catch ya later.”

As you watched him melt into the crowd, the other monsters walking around him like fish parting for a shark, you tried to hold in a scream.

Why did you do that? What the fuck was _wrong with you_?

This was hardly a walk in the park, it was a necessary catharsis. The cracks in whatever held you together, kept you functional, were getting bigger and bigger. You needed this, an opportunity to break apart and piece yourself together before anyone had the chance to see the _ugly little thing hiding inside the porcelain cage_.

So, before you’d laid down in the darkened bathroom, you’d ‘sent’ a message off explaining some sudden, gross human ailment that you couldn’t subject him to. 

At least, you’d typed it up, convinced yourself that you’d sent it.

When a gentle knocking caught your attention it took a moment to piece it together. The plumbing had never done that before, none of the appliances were on… _oh_.

Maybe if you just smacked your head on the rim of the tub and died it would save you from whatever hellishly awkward situation you’d created.

“alms?”

Ffffffuuuuucckckkckkkk.

“ya alright?”

You wanted to respond, you really did, but the words came out as a pitiful croak from your dry mouth. You sounded like an ancient sarcophagus being pushed open, revealing the mummified dumb bitch inside.

In the following days you’d run this through your head, trying desperately to remember some detail which made the whole situation realistic. Teleportation was a definite option, and you’d seen Sans do it, but the usual accompanying smell of ozone wasn’t there. Or maybe it was. 

Furniture was crammed against the door, and perched atop of it were empty tin cans balanced precariously against each other. The slightest movement would’ve sent them toppling to the ground.

Nothing. Silence. Not even a little mouse rustle. Eyes wide in the dark, you listened, trying hard to hear whatever you needed to hear over the thud of your heart.

“alma?”

Finally, your vocal chords decided to work, and you let out a scream before clapping your hands over your mouth.

His voice was coming from inside the living room. _He was inside_.

**_How did he get inside?_ **

“shit, sorry, uh-“

“It’s fine! Just didn’t hear you come in!”

It went quiet, making all of your hairs stand on end. Even if he was scrabbling against the door with his claws and laughing maniacally it would give you an idea of where he was. The quiet was so thick you’d begun to convince yourself that he’d just jumped out of the window when his raspy voice sounded again.

“are you in the bathroom?”

“No?”

**t h i n k**

“I’m under the floorboards, doing some renovations!”

_Jesus CHRIST._

_Why hadn’t natural selection killed you off already?_

His voice sounded closer, making you cringe back against the wall, “are you having a hot flush?” 

Hopefully, he could feel your blank, Godless stare through the door. 

“I’m not in my menopause, Papyrus, just doing some decorating.” 

He cursed so quietly you couldn’t make out exactly what he said, although you could swear ‘trousle’ was in there somewhere.” 

“fuck, no, uh… sans mentioned it… fever. where you get hot and crazy? not that you’re not always hot and crazy-” 

“Is it ‘Insult Alma Day’? Lord, no, I don’t have a fever, I’m just… unwell.” 

The sound of his coat sliding down the door made you cringe so hard your muscles ached. 

"what kinda unwell?” 

Alone, in the dark, it felt.. okay to say something. Not good, not remotely close, but it hurt to keep it in 

“I don’t feel right.” 

Your breathing had escalated from ‘just walked up a flight of stairs’ to ‘running the London Marathon against an ostrich on steroids’. 

“I don’t think I’m meant to exist here.” 

Or anywhere. 

The shadows seemed thick and syrupy in the quiet. It crept up suddenly, but as soon as your thoughts slowed the familiar feeding of foreboding came crashing over you like a tidal wave. 

_You were going to die in that bathroom. The pillows and duvet would be saturated by lymph and blood and rot until it trickled down the plug hole, until the neighbours complain about the smell_. 

Dread turned into sheer panic as the lock clicked and your barricade creaked under unknown pressure. Petrified, all you could do was watch with wide eyes as the door was pushed open with ease until the sheer amount of stuff you’d piled against it jammed against the wall. It wasn’t enough space to get through, just enough for an arm, but it was far too much. 

“hey, hey, chill. it’s okay.” 

That ragged breathing was coming from you? Who would’ve figured. 

“am not comin’ in. just sittin’ here.” 

The dim light of early morning glinted off of his gold tooth, highlighting what little you could see of him in blue. Papyrus was sharp angles and edges, but he looked… soft. True to his word, you heard the rustle of his clothes as adjusted himself against the newly-opened door, back still to you. Hating how open you were, how easily he could just turn his head and see you, you scuttled over to near the door. 

It was quiet for a moment, like you were the only one in the flat. Usually a reminder that somebody didn’t need to breathe was unsettling, but it eased the panic gripping your heart slightly. After all, **everyone else** needed to breathe. Papyrus didn’t. 

And he hadn’t done anything yet. 

The click of his phalanges against the bathroom tile snapped you back to reality. His fingers were barely across the threshold, but your brain still screamed to _slam the door shut make him leave do something_. 

“i used to get panic attacks.” 

The admission was so quiet you weren’t sure if you heard it at all. Cautiously, you shuffled a little closer to the opening to hear better. 

Papyrus took your silence as you were listening and not that you’d passed out from fear. 

His chuckle was sad, “nyeh, still do I guess, but it’s better now. the sun ‘n stars ‘n stuff… reminds us? that there’s no need to fight anymore. there’s enough space ‘n food, and we have to stick together.” 

Finally, your mouth agreed to function, “Was there not enough underground?” 

It was so quiet you could hear the slight scrape of his skull against the door, presumably from shaking his head, “nah, there was… it was just all we could do.” 

You got that. Filling the void. Violence against others. 

Violence against the self. 

When you were working quietly in the lab, Violeta mixing and pipetting next to you in companionable silence, you thought about the cavern and the cold wind that rushed up from it. Recently you’d been watching all the press releases and news reels you’d neglected in Edinburgh. Queen Toriel, face grim and steady and scarred, explaining in no-nonsense terms what monster kind expected. 

Behind her were hulking guards in shining steel armour, twice the height of the human journalists and delegates who were trapped between getting a good story and the natural fear that comes with being so close to something so capable of tearing you apart. 

You didn’t think any human would ever be able to comprehend what happened underground- if monsters even wanted to share. 

Emboldened by the rational security of the barrier, you reached out and rested your hand over his. 

His yelp was so strangled you jumped, banging your head against the door and knocking your hand as you withdrew it. 

“I’m sorry I should’ve asked-“ 

“- it’s ok, sorry, uh, i was just shocked. sorry.” 

He turned his hand over. The welded bones of his palm were even stranger to look at than the human-like metacarpals, “want to… only if you want. am not tryin’ anything.” 

Like a paranoid lizard inching towards a wasp, you watched, detached, as your hand crept over the floor and into his. It was cool, but not ambient temperature, like a cold desktop on a summer’s day. His fingers squeezed gently, and you reciprocated. There was the slightest give to them, like when you poked Violeta’s abs and nearly broke your fucking finger. 

Why was your heart pounding so fast? 

_…Why were you crying?_

Luckily for you and your dignity, it was near silent, and Papyrus was polite enough to pretend he didn’t hear your shaking breaths as his thumb traced the ridges of your knuckles. Stupidly, you wanted to apologise for how your hands were rough, scarred from pulling back brambles and dry from thoroughly washing your hands whenever you left the lab. 

“is the pile a gharial?” 

“What?” 

“uh, the pile? it’s like, green and fluffy.” 

Despite everything, you snorted, “Yeah, it is. I do better work, faster work, but…” 

“you’ve been busy.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, letting yourself actually enjoy the feeling of somebody touching you, even if it was disgusting and pitiful for you to crave it. Years of running, years of bouncing around the globe undone because you were fucking weak. 

As seconds passed by silently, you relaxed against the door. It was freezing cold away from the nest you’d made in the tub, so you curled up as tightly as possible, your right arm stretched awkwardly to keep in contact with him. Your thumb explored the ridges and bumps of his metacarpals, and his rough thumb stroked over your skin. It was strange, almost dreamlike, feeling what was inside of you through somebody else. 

“y’alright?” 

His voice was so soft the hum of the fridge almost drowned it out. 

Lazily, you lifted your head, “Oh, yeah, sorry…” 

The click of his lighter seemed impossibly loud, but you didn’t have the energy to inform him of the stringent no-smoking policy in the flat. 

He released your hand, and before the shock of disappointment had faded, it had relocated to the top of your head. 

“hey, lie down. 

Knowing fully well he couldn’t see you, you gave him a confused look through the door, making no effort to move. Rightfully taking your silence as ‘uhm, what the fuck?’ he sighed. The smell of cigarette smoke seeped from under the door. 

“it’ll help…promise.” 

Slowly, you uncurled yourself and laid down on the ground, stuck between facing towards him and knowing what he was doing and saving yourself the absolute humiliation. After dithering, you faced him, hands shaking. One arm was curled beneath your head like a pillow, your legs tucked up near your chest like a foetus. 

Shifting, again, and then cold bone rested across your face. His thumb rested at the corner of your right orbit, gently tracing up and down the bone. In synchrony, his fingers scratched through your hair onto your scalp, making you shudder. It should’ve been expected from such a tall monster but feeling the heel of his palm on your jaw and his long, spidery fingers rest on the crown of your head really hammered home just how huge his hands were. 

“that okay?” 

Even now, curled up on your bathroom floor behind a barricade of everything you owned, it was embarrassing to admit that, yes, it was okay. 

“It feels nice,” you responded softly, and thankfully Papyrus left it at that. The gentle pressure on your head made it easier to focus, to count how long each exhale and inhale took. Soon the bone had stolen enough of your heat to feel warm in comparison to the night air. His thumb began to explore the shape of your face, the give to your cheeks. 

Sans had cheeks. Well, kind of cheeks, they looked to be made of bone, but he didn’t seem the type to let Papyrus pinch or prod them. 

The thought made you snort, obviously startling Papyrus from the dull thud of what you could only assume was his skull knocking against the door. 

“Are you okay?” 

“yeah yeah, just thought you’da fallen asleep by now.” 

Hopefully he couldn’t feel your jaw clench, “Sleeping is hard.” 

“you can say that again.” 

“Sleeping is hard.” 

“…” 

That was the sound of disappointment. 

You giggled tiredly, “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” 

“nyeh, i forgive, don’t ever forget.” 

“You’ll tell the word police on me. 

If there was ever a sign you were getting exhausted, it was talking about the ‘word police’. Violeta had recorded you months ago, babbling to your samples about how they were coming to take their names away. 

“maybe. i accept bribes though.” 

“Bribes? Like frappuccinos?” 

His thumb stopped its exploration, “frappuccinos are toriel’s gift to monsters.” 

A chance to get up, get moving, and hold off sleeping so you could _enjoy the contact a little longer_ know you were safe. You yawned, almost getting Papyrus’ thumb in your mouth, “I’ll grab you one later. Or, there’s that late night café-“ 

“good one. you’re not gettin’ out of this. you need to rest.” 

Your voice was little again, nervous, “Somebody might come in.” 

TOO LATE. 

“i’ll keep watch darlin’ you sleep.” 

It felt wrong. The Alma pacing back and forth in the porcelain cage, holes big enough to scrape at until her nails were bloody, screamed in agony. You were being stupid, you were _asking for it_. Whatever happened was _your fault_ **your fault**. 

Even as your own mind, own survival instincts screamed at you, the lulling feeling of Papyrus’ digits stroking back and forth across your head was like a private lullaby. When was the last time you’d been treated like this, like something worth treating carefully? 

You were sure you said something, but it was garbled and near incomprehensible, and by the time you registered Papyrus’ responding chuckle the world was fading into black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Sorry for the lateness, I just had the last of my exams and some family commitments. Hope everyone is well.


	11. Emergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one, things have been strange in Rotville.

It was cold and dark, the night clinging on longer and longer as autumn slipped into winter. You walked in silence with Papyrus, side by side. Despite his ridiculously long legs, he kept in stride with you, staring at the ground just before his feet. Every slight movement of monsters going about their morning routine threatened to break whatever spell had been cast over you. His hands were tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, and yours were balled up into fists in a futile attempt to save your fingertips from frostbite. 

Like walking through some looping simulation, the sky swung back and forth between pale pink and ice blue as the sun struggled to rise. You could keep walking forever.

Every now and again your eyes would drift to the bulge of his hands in his pockets. They’d cradled you, traced over the scar where you’d fallen down the stairs as a child and had your skull glued back together. Those fingers had toyed with hair dirty and straw-like from neglect. His thumb ghosted over knuckles dry and cracked from years of abrasive laboratory-soap like they were something special

You wanted to cut his hand off, _stop it happening again_ **keep that feeling forever-**

It was still dark when you’d woken up, Papyrus’ hand still entangled in your hair. His thumb was tracing the ridge of your cheekbone, following it up along your orbit and then back along your jaw. Obviously it was curiosity- any human contact before the escape from the Underground was desperate and cruel- and nothing else. It was stupid of your stomach to be so twisted up. 

And you were supposed to be _smart_.

No matter how many times you told Violeta during your sleepovers, or yourself in the mirror as you tried and failed to make yourself presentable, you were human. You weren’t an alien who’d forgotten that this soft, unfamiliar body was just a disguise, you were a human, and humans liked contact.

You wanted to lean into the roadside verge and vomit until bile hung from your teeth like silk strings.

Eventually, entered the less wealthy portion of the city, a decent distance away from the Royal Laboratory and the rich suburbs where the skeleton brothers lived. The guardsmen who patrolled this fraction of the city were younger, less experienced, armour dented from sparring and not true conflict. Papyrus slowed, and you lead the way to that little café again. Honestly, you’d forgotten he was even there, so consumed with the knot of shame nesting in your stomach.

Fucking weak. Disgusting.

_didn’t you remember what happened the last time you did this._

**the flesh remembered**

The bell above the door tinkled merrily as you pushed inside, holding the door open behind you. In the back of your head you could hear ticking.

This wasn’t how it usually went.

“Uh, what would you like?” You asked, finally looking up at Papyrus. The other monsters in the café, mostly coming off of a long night-shift and indulging in a shitty hot chocolate before the walk home in a world too loud, seemed to sit a little straighter when your skeleton companion spoke.

“coffee, thanks.”

“Two coffees please,” you informed the cashier, who’d stopped tapping his talons against the counter as soon as he recognised your companion. Maybe there were racial tensions between monsters- they’d even reacted with less alarm to you than Papyrus. It made sense for monsters to be wary around Sans, he was a fucking nutcase, but Papyrus kept to himself, even if he did look scary. 

When the coffees were done (the cashier’s eyes never left Papyrus as you handed over the cash) you lead him to the little corner booth which smelled strongly of disinfectant. At least it was clean.

After he emptied three packets of sugar, sipped, and obviously decided it was too bitter by the way he added another three to his beverage, you awkwardly cleared your throat.

“I’m… I wish you didn’t see me like that last night.”

“didn’t. door was in the way.”

“I really… it’s… it… Papyrus, I’m sorry.”

You were too fucking humiliated to call out his dumb fucking attempt at a joke, and instead took a sip of your coffee. It burned your tongue, chipping away at the guilt that’d settled in your stomach with slow, aching pain.

Tongue suddenly too large and clumsy for your mouth, you tried to continue, “I’m usually alone and I meant to cancel I forgot I can’t think-“

“it’s ok.”

Patterns danced in your vision as you rubbed your tired eyes with one hand, “Sorry.”

He nodded, sipping coffee which somehow didn’t spill out between his fangs. His silence gave you time to think, quiet to realise your heart was pounding like a drum against your ribs. It was like a ‘we need to talk’ text, only the sender was sat in front of you trying to find the gentlest way to break your world into pieces.

Was it rude to be sick into your coffee cup? Maybe if you took it home and washed it after…

“i’d do it again.”

“Pardon?”

His fingertips ghosted against yours, the slightest of touches, and you drew your hand back quickly into your lap. No point in prolonging the sickly feeling of syrup running through your veins.

The quiet scrape of bone against bone as he ran his hand over his face snapped you back, “be there, if you wanted.”  
“Why?”

 

_So he could fuck you in your sleep._

“it’s scary, sometimes, bein’ alone, an’ i… it’s nice not to feel that..”

_Hold his hand over your mouth until your vision blurred into a gigantic, pulsating colour._

Later in bed as you replayed the conversation over and over in your mind, you’d notice the silence of the other patrons, how the ears of the blue kitchen porter had swivelled towards you. It held no significance to you- people couldn’t mind their own business regardless of race- but even the radio being piped from hidden speakers on the walls sounded quieter than before.

He was talking but there was no way you could listen. Not with dribbles of bile creeping up your throat no matter how many times you swallowed them back down. Unfortunately, most monster establishments didn’t have bathrooms- there was no need- so you couldn’t even go and vomit in peace. The coffee cup option was becoming more and more viable

Instead, you just sobbed. It was fucking hideous, broken, punishable by scratching your arms until the skin tore back before you had work important and well-paid enough to throw yourself into. Immediately Papyrus pushed his chair back, the grotesque screeching drowning out the pathetic mumblings of a mad woman. Firmly, he all but dragged you out of the coffee shop, your own shitty brew abandoned on the table.

Once outside in the biting air, Papyrus pushed you down the alley next to the shop and behind rows of industrial waste bins.

You were going to die.

He was going to rape you and you were going to die like a _rat caught in a trap_.

Maybe Sans would appear out of nowhere, shark toothed and sneering, and put you out of your misery.

“deep breaths. calm down.”

Papyrus glanced over his shoulder- none of the patrons had followed you outside.

Maybe they knew from the beginning, kept quiet to avoid being on the wrong end of those talons and teeth.

“y’can be sick out here if ya want. i’ll keep an eye, alright?”

Then his hand was off of you and there was nothing in the whole world to hold you up. Desperately, your hands scrambled against the brick wall for purchase, but it was all for nothing- you crumpled up like a slinky.

True to his word, Papyrus was stood at the ‘mouth’ of the hidden space behind the bins, cigarette lit. To a passer-by it would just look like he was taking a smoke break, and the sleeve of your raggedy coat was good material to cry into.

You weren’t sure how long it took, but three Papyrus cigarettes later you stood on wobbly legs and made your way over to him. His head tilted towards you as you approached, cigarette stomped out under his thick-soled boots.

“everything okay?”

You nodded.

He motioned out onto the street, “d’ya want to go home now?”

Yes, oh god yes, but it felt… rude, just disappearing like that. Despite the sticky, clammy feeling of your cheeks against the cold morning air, you felt you had to be polite.

“I could walk home with you, if you like.”

Papyrus raised a bony brow.

“It’s scary to be alone, right?”

_Scary to have him so close to your flat again, scary how easy it would be to ask him to cradle you like a child._

His face remained stone still, and then he cracked a grin that made your shoulders sag in relief.

“nyeh heh heh, got me. alright.”

The walk to his house was slower than that to the coffee shop. There was still a chill in the air, but it was pleasant, and you were walking through a less sketchy part of the city. It was mostly silent, with you or Papyrus pointing out a bird or insect or piece of monster history respectively. 

When you finally reached the skeleton brothers’ house, you awkwardly turned to face Papyrus. No doubt Sans was watching from behind the curtains, plotting how he could make beating you to death with a table leg look like an accident.

“Thanks again.”

“it’s no problem, again.”

Papyrus was looking down at the ground, kicking at some poor tuft of grass as he spoke.

“i meant it. message if ya… if you need some help again.”

_No, don’t cry again!_

“I hope… I hope you know the same goes to you.”

“heh, dope. wait, this is somethin’ humans do, right?”

He held out his bony fist, and you almost fucking screamed. Shaking from your suppressed giggles, you slipped your hand under his and held out your index and middle finger.

“Snail.”

Papyrus looked so baffled that you couldn’t hold it back, and snorted like a fucking turtle coming to the surface of a stormy sea.

“Good morning, Rus.”

Still stunned from the snail experience, Papyrus stared blankly for a moment before nodding, “good mornin’.”

Two steps and the ticking stopped. Hopefully Papyrus couldn’t see you crumble from the inside as he walked up the path, keys in hand.

Fifteen minutes down the road, you were sick in a well-manicured hedge, vomiting up giggles and ease and snails.

Every action had consequences.

 

The tap roared, water foaming from the intensity of the pressure as you scrubbed your hands raw. In between the fingers, scraping the hollow of you palm with your nails until blood spots scattered across them like leaves on water. You didn’t feel even close to clean, but there was work to be done, and you didn’t deserve kindness from anyone, yourself especially knowing how fucking foul you really were.

Your bag was stuffed with your laptop and reference papers for the presentation you and Violeta would be giving the coming week. It was imperative you got it right, cemented yourself as useful visitors. Hell, maybe they’d tell Undyne to fuck off and stop making creepy cancer comments while you were trying to work.

Grateful for the short distance between yours and your research partner’s accommodation, you ignored the painful pressure of the overly-stuffed bag on your shoulders and made your way to Violeta’s flat. Even from the hallway you could smell herbal tea and dried flowers that’d somehow escaped the notice of the monster at customs.

After knocking on the door, you could hear Violeta stumble from her bathroom over half-empty boxes that would likely remain unpacked until the time came for you to move again.

“One second! Sorry!!”

Finally, the familiar sound of her keyrings clicking together, and the door was open. She stepped back when she saw you, head flicking between the calendar on the wall- a picture of her and Desislava atop a model stegosaurus- and you. 

“The hell are you doing here? It’s Sunday.”

“Glad to know you can still read. Can I come in?”

“You never come out on Sunday. Or Monday. What happened?”

“Please can I come out of the hallway?”

Reluctantly, Violeta stepped back, allowing you entry and herself a chance to look you up and down. 

Colonising the last empty space on the tiny dining table, you began to pull out your labelled, colour coordinated files, “I thought we could get started on the specifics of the presentation. If we do five hours today, then two hours Monday to Friday to make ten next week, that’ll be enough.”

“It needs to be perfect, and it’s not yet,” you finished simply, eyes still focused on the unfinished presentation on your laptop. The review meeting for the zoological gardens was soon, the coming Friday, but right now you doubted you’d even be able to recite the alphabet. Your catharsis, burning forests of thoughts in your mind annually, a festival dedicated to cleansing the filth-soaked ground, had been interrupted.

And everything in your head had ground to a hault.

“Alms, come back down, you’re going to break the key.”

Your finger was pressed down against your keyboard, eyes following the growing queue of ‘q’s until your brain caught up and withdrew your hand. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Tired.”

“Why?”

“Sore throat, think the pollen up here is going wild on me.”

“Can you be honest with me for, like, ten seconds please?”

You deleted the last of the ‘q’s with a decisive tap, “I don’t think it would help much. I’m here with my part of the research done ahead of schedule. It’s a good thing.”

Violeta frowned, “Not really? I mean, it doesn’t take a statistician to notice how you always take this weekend off. And it only takes somebody with eyes to notice that you’re…”

“Yes? I’m what?”

Your side-eye could stop a speeding train, but it was no match for the unstoppable force of Violeta once she had a good plot going in her head.

“Well, you’re here for starters. Last year you didn’t come back into the lab until Wednesday, and even then you were like a zombie. Professor Maynard even tried to send you home, remember? And he prided himself on working you like a dog.”

“He pushed us, and it worked- we’re here, aren’t we?”

She shoved you, her handprint burning-hot on your shoulder, “Shut up, that’s not the point and you know it! What the point is is that you’re never alright after whatever the hell you do. AND, you won’t even tell me!”

Rightly affronted, you turned where you stood to face her, glad for your extra inches on her, “I’m allowed to have personal, private stuff. Sorry if that’s a huge fucking issue.”

“Alma. You. Are. Missing. The. Point. All I’m saying is that it’s weird how, all of a sudden, you’re out. That’s all I said, and I’d like it if you said sorry for getting shitty with me when all I’m doing is being a good friend.”

You held your head in your hands, completely confused as to how you’d started such a stupid argument in the span of two minutes. Exhaling hard through your nose, you counted down from ten in French, English, then Bulgarian before allowing yourself to talk.

“Sorry. It’s just a hard time of year.”

Her eyes could go from hard and steely to softer than clouds in mere seconds, “Don’t stress about it. Just… please don’t lock me out. I might be able to help if you told me what was going on.”

It was hard, and your heart shattered along the same old self-sustained cracks that made you hide away in the first place, “Nobody will be able to help.”

“Thought you were supposed to be clever,” Violeta huffed, stepping awkwardly over the boxes to stand next to you. She was older than you by two months, a fact she never neglected to mention whenever it came to driving or getting the fuller portion of fries from the kebab shop after a night out, but you still felt… older.

Like you’d seen more.

Alien.

She rested her head on your shoulder, and for a moment your world smelled of green tea and tickled your nose.

“Bebche”*

“Doudou.”*

“You what?”

When you snorted, an entire end of her plait was vacuumed up your nose, “It means duvet or blanket or whatever in French.”

“You frogs are weird.”

Your skin was starting to prickle and itch under hers, and having known her long enough to not be polite, you all but shoved her off of you. She took it well enough, just reaching for her cold green tea.

“What about, after the presentation, we go out.”

Violeta looked at you over her mug, “Out like ‘yay picnic at the park’ out, or ‘’snort inordinate amounts of coke’ out.”

You shot her a grin, “Wasn’t planning on the drugs, no, but I saw a poster for this club ‘Puzzle Palace’ and thought it would be nice to check it out.”

“Maybe it’s like those bars with the retro arcade machines,” she suggested, “Or like a club escape room! Where you have to complete loads of challenges to get to the room with the good music.”

“It would just be us thrashing to the Cupcakke remix of 'Old Town Road'.”

“Hey! That’s the dream night out!”

You tapped on the table, “The real question is, who’s going to host pres?”

She snorted, “You, obviously, you can’t handle the mess and shit. I’ll bring the rakia.”

“Fair deal,” you grinned, holding out your hand. Violeta took it daintily, shaking it like the queen after a long summer nap.   
Smacking the table, Violeta pulled herself over to the open laptop where absolutely nothing had been done, “Alright, enough, we can chat shit once we get this done.”

Reluctantly, you both turned to the pile of papers, and began to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A cuter way of saying 'бебе', which is Bulgarian for 'baby'.   
> *A French endearment meaning something cuddly, like a blanket.
> 
> Hello, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I just wanted to say a huge thank you for all of the lovely comments. Don't worry, I've saved them on my computer so I can look at them when I'm feeling down. I've also had a bit of inspiration for a side series looking more at you (Alma) and Violeta's past relationships with family and friends if anyone would be interested. Is there anything you'd like to see from this story in general? Please let me know, and a huge thank you for reading.


	12. Ethanol

“Why isn’t Lil Pump King? He would’ve laughed at our cool zoo pun.”

You poked your head out of the bathroom to hear Violeta better from her place at your tiny desk where she’d set up camp. The huge mirror she was gazing into wasn’t yours, but one of the _suitcase_ of things she’d brought across to make your place ‘habitable’.

“I just don’t think it’s meant to be. I doubt Queen Toriel would take well to being usurped by a human younger than us.”

“Even if his lean costs more than his rent?”

“Yes- besides, our Lord and Saviour Lil Pump doesn’t pay rent, he buys his properties outright with cash and then rents them to students at extortionate prices because he secretly owns every estate agent and renting agency in existence. In this essay, I will-“

“Maybe that’s what he means. He has all this rent, but his addiction to codeine costs all of their money!” 

You leaned against the door frame, giggling, “Why aren’t you a sociologist, Vi?”

“Because you can’t get any decent studies done in Bulgaria,” Violeta poked her tongue out, “Let me live in my fantasy land, no need to rub the harsh reality of Boyko Borrisov in my face.”

“We have to deal with Macron if that makes you feel better.”

“Uh, he’s not jerking off Putin under the table, but thanks for trying.”

It wouldn’t be pre-drinks if you didn’t get into bitching about your countries’ various rulers. 

Already made-up (you were a minimalist, what could you say) you stepped into the kitchen and made an alcoholic drink for Vi and a glass of diet soda for yourself. It was an unspoken rule that you would be the ‘designated driver’ and in return Violeta would buy you some kebab shop chips on the stumble home.

You found yourself stepping over crumpled dresses and skirts and bodysuits, casualties of Vi’s ‘artistic process’ , as you handed her the vodka and coke. She accepted it gratefully, counting under her breath before releasing her hair from the curlers with a puff of hot air.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Progress report on your hair?” You asked, leaning back against the tiny table groaning from the combined weight of yours and Violeta’s skincare products.

She looked you dead in the eyes through the mirror, “I look like hot Pennywise.”

“Wha- you’re not even ginger?”

“No, genius, I mean that no matter how much of this ‘soothing mist’ I use my hair puffs up like I’m plugged into the mains.”

“It’s not that bad. You could put it up in those e-girl bunches or something.”

Violeta snapped her fingers, gears turning, “Yeah, or a hot mess ponytail.”

“Cute.”

As Vi picked up her phone to check out styles, she remembered what she’d planned to torment you with.

“Hey, want to try out this game? Desi said that when she played it with her friends it was hilarious.”

Cautiously, you eyed your friend, her hair woes completely forgotten, “What kind of game?”

She flashed the hot pink screen at you, “It just gives you prompts or questions, and forfeits if you don’t complete them.”

Shrugging, you perched on the end of your bed, running your hand down the finally-completed gharial’s back, “I’m down.”

Violeta loaded up the first question, drumming her fingers against the table top to stir up the tension, “Okay! Here we go… who is the hottest person you’ve ever worked with.” She shot you a hard look, already grinning, “If you don’t pick me there will be cOnSeQuEnCeS.”

“Jesus, fine, you’re up there.”

She fist-pumped.

“-But Lubomir owns my heart.”

Violeta sipped her drink, gathering as many hairbands and clips as possible, “Naturally.”

You motioned, and she passed the phone over to you. You reloaded the questions and barked out a short laugh.

“What’s the biggest dick you’ve ever touched?”

Vi gagged, “Dicks? DESGOSTENG.”

…

It was an hour later and you knew more about the intimate details of Violeta’s sex-life than you ever cared to know. By now Vi was looking gorgeous, if a little wild, eyeliner huge and hair even huger. She wore a ‘20s inspired dress with an oversized denim jacket she’d ‘borrowed’ from you, and was bouncing off the walls she was so excited to go out.

“One last question,” she commanded, “And then, we _dance_.”

“You are the dance commander,” you said solemnly, refreshing the question page. You read out the command from the app, “’Do a weird body thing. If you can’t take a shot- if the other participants get grossed out by the act, they have to drink.”

“Okay, alright, gimme a sec, I’m not proud of this-“

“Is it gross?”

“Kinda? More gross than other stuff? Anyway, it’s not going to be a surprise if you keep PEEKING.”

“Jesus!” You laughed, trying to hide your eyes without spilling your freshly topped-up drink over scientific drawings that should’ve probably been put away. Nevertheless, Violeta continued, and you squeezed your eyes shut to avoid life-long psychological scarring.

“Are you done yet?”

“Stop rUsHiNg Me!”

Finally, Violeta tapped you on your shoulder, and you cautiously peeked past your fingers. She’d folded her ears up into her… ear hole? Her earlobe and shell were tucked in, making it look like little triangle studs were glued onto the side of her head.

You were creasing.

“Holy fuck Vi, _what_? Don’t you have cartilage? Did… did the Russians take it?”

She shot you a withering look, “We haven’t been occupied by Russia since 1990, thanks. The cartilage farms are all closed now.”

“You look like a fucking troll, oh my god,” you continued to giggle, missing the high-quality history lecture Violeta continued to give despite your lack of cooperation, “Or shrek!”

“Come on Alms, I think you’re.. _ogre reacting_.”

Vi looked like the cat who got the cream as you screamed, grabbing the gharial and shoving it against your face to try and muffle your hysterics. It wasn’t even that funny, but every time you looked up and saw her fucking triangle ears it made you cackle again.

Having had enough of your antics, Violeta sighed and rolled her eyes, “Alright, your turn, do some weird stuff or you have to drink.”

Without hesitation, you poked your tongue out and touched it to the tip of you nose.

“It’f mmy pbroboscfissss phor nechtar.”

“That’s not weird!”

You pointed dynamically, “Nectar is essential to goblins like me in the summer months.”

“It’s, like, November.”

“… You know I can’t count.” 

Violeta nimbly plucked your cup from your grasp, “I didn’t get grossed out, so you have to do a shot.” She eyes the contents of your glass, debating whether it would be worth grabbing a mug from the kitchen to pour it out into before just downing it.

You snorted, but stayed obediently as she poured a measure of rakia into your now empty glass, “Those were the rules were they?”

“Stop doubting, start drinking!”

You tried to think of anything to procrastinate drinking, and your dumb ass only came up with a shitty toast, “Wait… to our great presentation, and to not being eaten by a scary fish woman _or_ a scary goat woman.”

“What a wordsmith!” Violeta grinned, chinking her glass against yours so hard her drink sloshed onto the carpet. Greedily, she drank what was left before slamming the glass onto the table. You finished your drink with much less pizazz, collecting up her glass and leaving them both in the sink.

One less thing for sober Alma to deal with.

When it got to slamming stage you knew Violeta was ready to go out. She was chattering away, slipping between languages with ease sober-Vi would envy. Pacing back and forth across the bombsite floor, she’d check her bare wrist and grumble.

“Come on, Alms! I don’t want to be late! Well, not more than fashionably late.”

“Hold your horses,” you sighed, pulling your shoes towards you. 

After fifteen minutes of figuring out the laces on your cute but stupidly designed boots, you and Violeta were heading into the cold night air. Vi linked her arm through yours, whining whenever you walked too fast.

Either it was an oddly busy Friday or you both really needed to get out, because even Vi seemed gobsmacked at how many monsters were on the streets. They were such a variety of shapes and sizes it was difficult not to stare at each one as they passed. A particularly fashion-forward bear in a mesh top, ‘thicc’ across the chest in sequins, was talking to the artist rabbit you’d seen Papyrus with that one awkward encounter in the bar.

The line for Puzzle Palace was a mess, and you’d spent long enough in the UK for such horrid queueing to really irritate you. Still, you tried to make Vi complain more quietly as you stepped into what looked like the back of the line. It moved quickly, each rush of bodies punctuated by cheers and annoyed grumbles.

Enjoying your relative visibility, you kept quiet for most of the wait until a boisterous… aeroplane? A boisterous aeroplane flung down a pint glass full of sickly green liquid and informed the bouncers in a voice that rumbled and spluttered how they wouldn’t be coming back again.

“What even are monster drinking rules?” You asked yourself more than Vi, patting your pocket for the umpteenth-time to check your wallet was still there, “Loads of people are getting turned away.”

“Probably a fashion thing? I don’t know, the places I drink in at home aren’t especially picky, even about ID and stuff.”

“I’ll assume you weren’t buying their house red at age fourteen?” You teased, nudging her in the ribs. Vi shook her head, a fond smile on her face.

“No, you turnip, we did _noz_ at fourteen.” 

Vi cackled as you rubbed your temples with one hand, and finally you were at the front of the queue. The two bouncers were both sea-goats with three pairs of horns- one pair curling up, one down, and the final pair like a ram’s.

“Good evening,” you said awkwardly.

Nothing.

“Not the talkative type, eh?” Vi muttered in Bulgarian, too quiet for the goats to hear over the general chattering of the crowd.

You opened your identification booklet, but one sea-goat simply stepped aside while the other simply raised his hoof. The line surged forward, pushing you past the bouncer before you could say thank you. There were some jeers, a particularly accented voice calling the horse-monster a ‘boot licker’, and Violeta dragged you down the hallway towards the thumping bass a little faster.

“Finally!” Violeta sighed, dragging you towards the thumping music like a moth to a flame, “Time to celebrate!”

“Boot licker?” You began, but Violeta wasn’t having any of it.

“We are here to DANCE. Not to THINK. THINKING IS DANGEROUS.”

“Uh-“

“I can’t HEAR YOU.”

“THINKING IS DANGEROUS,” you parroted back, finally making it to the cloakroom. Even out there, the music made it hard to think.

As you debated taking some pre-emptive paracetemol, Vi slid her debit card and phone into her bra before handing the bag and paracetamol over to the apathetic attendant. You watched as your chance of a headache-free Saturday slipped through your fingers.

 _I’ll never let you go, Jack_.

Finally, with your heart thudding nervously in your chest, you pushed through the doors into the actual dance floor. It was set up like a theatre, a DJ mixing on the stage (accompanied by dancers so scantily clad you had to evert your eyes) and the main dance floor just beneath it. Around the central stage the seating was in tiers, you and Vi having entered onto the very top section which was lit entirely in an ominous red. 

Thick red velvet curtains were drawn around the boxes, something the other patrons seemed unbothered by.

 _Not everyone was consumed with paranoia, after all_.

You tapped on Vi’s shoulder, halting your one-way trip to wherever she wanted to go, “Let’s get a drink.”

Firmly, she grabbed you by the shoulders, “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had! To the bar!”

Luckily for your feet- the boots looked cute but were holding your poor toes hostage- there was a bar on every tier so you didn’t have to traverse the steps. A bubblegum-blue hare was mixing at least twenty drinks at once, multiple shakers arcing though the air only to be caught by some invisible hand. You were so entranced by such a blatant display of magic, he’d finished a good ten of them before you got your mind together to order.

“Whattabout it, sugacube?”

“Two of anything that glows, please,” you said, card between your fingers. He smirked at that, turning his back to begin pouring so many shots and syrups into a shaker you lost count. A little disappointingly, he shook it by hand before pouring what looked like liquid fire into two spherical cups. You slid your card over in return, and he swiped it as you and Violeta took your first sip.

“Nice!” She commented, happily.

“…It tastes like curry sauce.”

How a monster nightclub had managed to perfectly replicate the taste of fish and chip shop curry sauce was incredible. It was… odd, and you couldn’t bring yourself to justdrink it.

Obviously, your companion was having no such problem, taking smooth swallows. She pointed at the bartender, who seemed amused by the whole ordeal.

“This is what my people call ‘mnogo vkusen’.”

“That means it’s delicious,” you translated, not wanting to ruffle any feathers.

The bartender looked down at your mostly-full glass, “Not t’ya taste? I’ll mix up somethin’ good f’ya.”

You immediately raised up your hands, shaking your head, “Oh no, no, there’s no need, but thank you-“

They raised a clawed finger to their mouth before turning back to make something. 

Violeta’s hand scrabbled across the counter like a crab, plundering your glass, “Well, if you’re not finishing this~”

Awkwardly, you watched as Vi put her own empty drink down in time to start at yours. You shook your head in disbelief, “How can you stand so much curry flavour?”

She seemed genuinely perplexed, “Curry? It’s caramel, Alms, the sugar stuff.”

“No, it’s not? It literally-“

“Order up, sugacube.”

“Thank you,” you said again, slipping your card back into your pocket when he blatantly picked up the empty glass and headed to the other side of the bar, shooting a wink your way. This drink was a deep, dark purple and smelled of poppyseeds.

Vi stood on tippy toes, looking over your shoulder, “Hey, can I have a taste?”

Gently, you batted her away, “Finish yours first, curry crusader.”

“Okay, but let me dance first. I can’t drink without dancing."

From all of the nights in the pub after your funding applications were denied, you knew that wasn’t _exactly_ the case, but let yourself be pushed away from the bar and into the crowd. The crowd had no _form_ to it, everyone was so different, tall and thin like a telephone pole or huge and round or small and sharp-

Snapping fingers brought you back, but Vi spared you the lecture and instead motioned towards the speakers.

“Who’s playing? They’re great!”

“Napstaton I think?” 

“Okay, thanks for the non-answer, who is Napstaton?” Vi asked, dancing wildly with her entire body save the arm holding the near-empty glass. Nervously, you tried to guess how much alcohol she’d just downed, but it was literally impossible with monster alcohol. A roll of the dice.

You sipped your own drink, wanting to minimise how much Violeta would steal when she inevitably finished her curry-drink, “He’s like a robot DJ? Apparently, he doesn’t have any legs, but ‘Rus might’ve been fucking with me- I’ve only seen a picture from the waist up.”

“OoooOooOOooooh, ‘Rus’ is it?” Violeta grinned, ceasing her ‘classic move’ (one arm pointed up, legs bent, swaying back and forth as she crab-walked across the dance floor) to poke at your chest with her painfully manicured nails. You managed to catch her hand.

“It’s literally nothing-“

“-Alma, Alma, come on, you’re so awkward that nicknames give you an aneurysm.”

“Leave it,” you said, a little firmer than before. Surprisingly, Drunk Vi knew when to shut up better than sober Vi, and she just downed the rest of her drink before ‘lassoing’ you closer. Trying to look annoyed, you let yourself be pulled into dancing with her.

“I’m gonna BOP TO THE TOP, ALMA!”

At some point during your twenty-minute dance interval, Violeta stole your drink, not that you minded. You loved dancing and people were leaving you alone- hell, nobody was even looking. 

Was that was being a ghost felt like?

Too slowly to be noticed, the music shifted from pure Napstaton to more human tunes from all over the globe. You and Vi couldn’t even sing along to the majority, not knowing Mandarin or Korean or Arabic, so you just danced extra hard to make up for it.

“Is it throwback night?” Vi yelled a little too loudly, making you jerk your head away and into the shoulder of a monster so heavily muscled that they didn’t even notice. 

You shrugged, “I guess they have a lot of catching up to do.”

After a quiet moment, you grinned, “Do you reckon they’ll have a Gangnam Style phase too?”

She groaned, “Please, please God no!”

The beat shifted into something familiar, instantly halting your conversation. Violeta was so excited she was 

“Because it’s hot-“

“It’s LOUD-“

“-IT’S WILD!”

“WE BOUNCE TO THIS TRACK!” 

“AND I DON’T CARE WHAT ANYBODY THINKS ABOUT THAT!”

Not that Napstaton didn’t have his own… unique charm, but it was nice being able to yell along to music. Of course, absolutely screaming along to the music hardly helped you blend in. Amazingly, as Vi whipped her ponytail round and round like the blade on a helicopter, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was fun, and acting so strangely meant that the monsters gave you a decent breadth.

When the beat dropped, Violeta attempted a death drop, flopping onto the floor like a puppet with all of its strings cut. You howled with laughter, barely able to stay standing yourself. You’d only had two sips of the strange purple drink, and just one of the curry-liquid, but it felt like you were a ball of giggles being held together by weak seams.

Clumsily, you tugged Violeta up, “Lets save that for later, yeah?”

“Geeeniuuuusssssss,” she hissed, throwing her arm around your neck and throwing her head back, pointed foot kicking a poor volcano monster right in the crater. You tried to apologize, but they just shook their head, a few sparks landing dangerously close to your feet.

There was no way of telling the time, so you had no idea how long you spent dancing before relocating, and then dancing some more. It was thirsty work, and while you stuck to whatever soft beverages the bar had (some still tasting alcoholic, but you were too unsure to make any accusations) Violeta kept on ordering whatever fizzed or sparked or shone.  
She was _plastered_.

Despite her loud protests, you managed to drag her out of the club and to the cloakroom.

“I was having FUN, ALMA.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You know, DANCING, MAKING FRIENDS! It was gReAt!”

“You kicked at least eight people,” you sighed, looking back over your shoulder in case one would suddenly appear.

You fished out the ticket from your bra, retrieving your bag things from the cloakroom. Putting on your coat and carrying Vi’s bag and jacket when she haughtily insisted only weenies wore outer layers, it felt good to be back outside. The music had left you with an awful headache, and now you were about to head home it seemed like an impossible task.

Violeta didn’t like following orders.

However, that was hardly the biggest problem of the night. You’d made it a couple hundred metres down the road when Violeta’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, and you copied Papyrus’ technique of getting the vomiting person out of sight behind a large bin.

As you held her hair back, willing the nausea at the disgusting splattering sound to go away, you heard deliberate footsteps of heeled shoes heading your way. You looked up, hackles raising, until the eavesdropper was beneath the yellow glow of the streetlight.

“Sans. It’s-“

“A VOM-DERFUL EVENING, YES.”

You could barely manage a sigh before Vi was wiping her mouth, winding one arm around your neck.

“You done?” You murmured in English. 

She shook her head.

Sans was still there, his perma-grin twitching at the grim sight. Maybe if Vi was sick again he’d fuck off.

You motioned backwards towards the splatter of sick with your head, arm firmly around Vi’s waist, “It’s not illegal, is it?”

“WELL, I COULD WRITE YOU UP FOR PUBLIC MISCONDUCT, BUT…” His pun cannon was charging, “THAT WOULD BE PRETTY _BILE_ OF ME.”

He wasn’t the only one developing a face twitch. Vi’s vomit-y head was tucked against your shoulder, and you wanted to get home before the stench stuck and you smelled like a public changing room for the rest of the weekend.

Carefully, you began, “Well, we can manage the walk home, and don’t want to waste your time, so we’ll be heading off now.”

How a skeleton without lips managed to pout you’d never know, “BUT WE HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN INTRODUCED.”

Awakening from her daze by the deepest of social conventions, Vi stuck out her non vomit-y hand.

_Missed opportunity._

“I… am Violeta Lazarov. WHoooo are you?”

He took her hand in his, black leather gloves protecting his bones from the non-existent bodily excretions, “I’M SANS, SANS THE SKELETON.”

Luckily, there were no nasty tricks, and Violeta let her hand slip out of his like a dead fish. Maybe he was afraid of triggering projectile vomit while in striking range.

“Niceeee to meet you,” Vi hissed tiredly. She tensed, retching, and ashamedly you jumped back to avoid getting sprayed with what smelled overwhelmingly of curry sauce. When you reached out to hold her hair back she put out her hand, croaking out ‘don’t touch me’ between retches.

“Mank,” you said awkwardly, watching as your friend emptied herself onto the pavement.

“DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN TAKE HER HOME ALONE?” Sans asked, raising a bony brow.

“Yes, thank you.”

“YOU’RE ALL _SKIN AND BONE_ , THERE’S NO WAY YOU COULD CARRY HER.”

“We’ll both walk then,” you insisted, trying not to get annoyed.

“IT WOULD HARDLY BE A HASSLE FOR SOMEBODY LIKE ME.”

You stepped a little closer to Vi, voice raising a fraction, “Sans, leave it. We’re fine.”

“Sir, are they causing trouble?” A too eager voice asked.

The heavy clunking of armour made you jump and turn to face the gigantic, hulking figures of who you could assume were two members of the royal guard. Their steel breastplates were dented and littered with scratches, but the deltarune was still clearly embossed across them.

“We can take them to the jail until they sober up,” the other suggested. The helmet completely shadowed their eyes, making it near-impossible to tell where they were looking, and it made you shudder where you stood.

Sans shook his head, “NO. RETURN TO YOUR STATIONS ON WATERFALL BOULEVARD.”

“Yes Captain!” Both responded immediately, raising their fist to trace a triangle between their two shoulders and the deltrarune emblazoned on their armour.

They stood for a moment, and the dash of impatience in Sans’ voice was enough to spook you (and apparently the two guards as well), “DID I SAY ‘LOLLYGAG FOR TEN MINUTES THEN HEAD TO WATERFALL’?”

“No Captain.”

“Sorry Captain.”

As quickly (and loudly) as they came, the pair headed down the road, marching in perfect synchrony. Vi, having chucked up yesterday’s breakfast, braced herself against the wall.

“Okay, I’m rEaDy To HeAd BaCk In.”

“Not on my watch,” you said, stepping over the new vomit puddle. You looped her right arm over your shoulder, trying to take as much of her weight as possible. Sans stepped forward to, and you forgot to be polite.

“I thought I told you I could handle it.”

“YOU WERE BEING STUPID, SO I CHOSE NOT TO LISTEN.”

You watched like a hawk as Sans mirrored your motion on Vi’s left side and began to manoeuvre both of you out of the alleyway and back onto the main street. Having chundered out the last of her energy, all Vi did was weakly move her legs as you and Sans practically lifted her down the road.

Eventually, the silence was too much to take, and you awkwardly tried to start a conversation.

“They called you Captain.”

“GOOD TO KNOW YOU CAN UNDERSTAND BASIC WORDS.”

“Why?”

Sans stopped in his track and turned to look at you, incredulous.

_Wow, that went well._

“I’LL JUST ASSUME YOU’RE INEBRIATED AND ANSWER YOUR FOOLISH QUESTION. IT IS MY RANK.”

As much as you wanted to argue your sobriety, maybe even recite the alphabet backwards, you decided it was best to keep your dumb ass mouth shut, lest your foot land firmly in it.

“I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD, THE LEADER, SECOND ONLY TO QUEEN TORIEL.”

He grinned at you, no mirth but all sharp teeth and threats, “EVERY MONSTER IN OBEYS ME.” His lip curled, “SHAME THE SAME CAN’T BE SAID FOR HUMANS! I SUPPOSE IT’S HARDER FOR SIMPLE MINDS TO GRASP.”

Of fucking course he was. 

Who else wore _heeled boots_ to work?

“Congratzzzz Snans,” Violeta mumbled drunkenly between you, and you readied yourself to witness the brutal murder of your best friend. Sans froze, staring down at her lolled head, before cracking up, “On the peermotionnnn.”

“MWEH HEH HEH HEH. I AM FEELING GENEROUS, SO I WILL ACCEPT THEM. BE HAPPY, HUMAN.”

Apparently Vi’s natural charm shone through even when she was completely plastered, because there was no way you would’ve gotten away with that. Grateful, you tried to calm your pounding heart as you continued on the march home, ignoring the monsters side-eyeing you as they were forced off of the pavement.

Vi wasn’t even awake when Sans spoke again, floating over the cobbles like a ghost.

“YOU SPENT THE NIGHT WITH MY BROTHER.”

You cringed.

 _Oh God_.

“It wasn’t that kind of-“

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT WHAT YOU GET UP TO WITH HIM. I RESPECT HIS PRIVACY, AS SHOULD YOU.”

Before you could even open your mouth to speak, Sans shot you a look which could’ve curdled milk.

“I JUST WANTED TO BE FAIR AND GIVE YOU A GOOD WARNING.”

His gloved hand dug a little deeper into Vi’s side.

“IF YOU SO MUCH AS THINK OF INTERFERING IN HIS NEW LIFE, IT WON’T JUST BE YOU HAVING A **B A D T I M E**. UNDERSTOOD?”

It would be easy, smart even, to clear it up right away, explain how impossible it’d be for you to fuck him up when just holding his hand for half an hour made you cry and vomit and fill your belly with a warmth you hadn’t felt for years. How on Earth could you hurt Papyrus?

“Understood.”

“GOOD. HOLD ONTO HER.”

Suddenly, the world was spinning again, the ground beneath your feet melting into a viscous goo that stopped your legs from moving as the world tipped you upside down. Despite being near black-out drunk, this new motion was violent enough to wake Vi just in time to aim her spray of sick at you instead of Sans.

With a familiar feeling of weightlessness, you tried to keep Vi off of the ground as she dribbled bile onto your new dress. Sans, who was a good distance away, shrugged in the most half-arsed apologetic manner it ironically must’ve taken hours of being a little shit to perfect.

“OH, PARDON ME, I DIDN’T MEAN TO TURN YOU AROUND.”

“Itt’ssszzz no worryyy bone boy,” Vi slurred between hiccups, “Cheersssssssz.”  
“Thank you walking us back,” you added reluctantly when Vi stepped on your foot hard enough to actually hurt though the thick material of your boots. Apparently you were being _rude_.

“IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME, I MUST RETURN TO MY SHIFT. GOOD EVENING HUMAN AND HUMAN.”

After bowing deep, he disappeared, and you were alone trying to get Vi up the stairs and promising you’d explain how the walk went by so quickly when she was sober.

It was only a few hours until sunrise, luckily, so you didn’t even try to sleep until dawn broke and you could play pretend at being normal, scrubbing sick out of your dress and trying not to think. It came up clean, like it’d never been touched, although you doubted you’d ever wear it again.

You didn't even get your chips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope Borissov and Macron don't ruin my tea party. Let me know what you think of this one since it's a little longer than usual, and I guess had more of a structure? Being based around an 'event'? Or just have a snack, you deserve one.


	13. Adrenaline

“I can’t believe we have to collect more samples,” Vi grumbled, voice barely louder than the car air conditioning. You were driving this time, letting your research partner ‘look after’ the sample pots and focus on trying not to vomit. Apparently the monster alcohol she’d drank was so potent the hangover had lingered through the entirety of Saturday into Sunday.

Shrugging, you kept your eyes on the road, looking out for non-existent traffic, “I guess it could never be perfect. They had to pick up on something, and we didn’t get as many as we needed.”

“Still,” Vi insisted, “Considering we’re not getting paid it’s a little _rich_.”

You glanced over at her, “You pun again and I’ll leave you here to walk home.”

She stretched and cracked her back loudly, “Who named you judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Your mum.”

“Skeleton guy would appreciate my puns,” Vi grumbled, letting her head bounce against the headrest. Luckily for you, she was too nauseous to continue her verbal assault. 

Despite having driven up to the mountain before, you had to pull over twice to look at the map while Vi heaved into the innocent bushes. Something so pure being coated in scrambled eggs made you say a little prayer.

Did it count as pollution? 

The amount Vi was sicking up, it was something to look into.

Finally, you parked the car in the familiar dirt space and gathered everything together. You couldn’t help but giggle as Vi piled shears and species-keys into her bag with gigantic, heart-shaped sunglasses on. At least the residual glitter had been washed off, which was a huge improvement from when you’d eventually crept over on Saturday evening.

“Do you remember the way?” Vi asked, tugging her ponytail through the hole in the back of her cap.

“Yeah, froggit rock, then cactus, then path? Unless you remember differently.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Good. Let’s get going before it gets too hot.”

You disappeared into the dense woods yet again, swatting at flies and pushing past brambles. Once you’d passed the froggit rock and the cold cactus you didn’t have to concentrate on not getting lost in the woods. 

“You know who I miss?” Vi asked, breaking the companionable silence as you plodded down the familiar trail.

You cocked you head, “Your dog?”

She shoved you lightly from behind, knowing full well the path was too narrow and the foliage too dense for you to whip around and give her a good glare.  
“No, genius, Desi. It’s our anniversary soon!”

“Really? Didn’t you just have one?”

“HA HA, funny.”

It was quiet for a moment, only the occasional trill of a bird to offer a distraction from the plodding of your feet against the rough path.

“I remember our six-months anniversary,” Vi said dreamily, popping a boiled sweet from her pocket into her mouth, probably to get rid of the sick taste, “I made this huge banitsa and a fruit salad and we had a picnic on the roof of her tower block.”

“I bet she loved it,” you replied, keeping quiet. Vi needed her scheduled reminiscing time.

“And for our first,” Vi continued, barely even hearing you, “We went to Athens! I remember saying we were going on a surprise trip south of Sofia-“

“- never said how far south,” you finished, unable to help yourself.

“Damn right.”

She was quiet for a moment, fiddling around in her beg before passing you a key chain. A very tan pair were grinning in front of the Parthenon. You could practically feel the happiness exuding from them just holding the photo.

“It just sucks,” Vi sniffed behind you. You turned but couldn’t see her eyes behind those fucking sunglasses.

“Hm?”

“Well, I can’t see her this year, can I? Or the next two either- I’m stuck here.”

It would be easy to point out how this’d been clearly stated, but Vi was still allowed to be upset. It was shitty, end of story. You’d never had something like that, a feeling that ached to your core whenever you were away from that ~special someone~.

You counted yourself lucky. 

“Have you spoken to the Queen? She might be able to let you go.”

Vi huffed, “You read the same contract as me- we can’t leave.”

“Yes, but if you get permission from the right people-“

“Alma, thanks, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Her voice sounded thick, and you spared her the embarrassment of an entire emotional ordeal and picked up the pace slightly. If you couldn’t cheer her up, you’d distract her with the mountain of field work! Your emotional intelligence was top tier.

By the time you reached the field site, her breaths were light again, and aside from a slight splotchiness in the cheeks she looked good as new. Eagerly, she set the bag down, and you followed suit, lining up the empty sample pots like toy soldiers. When you were done, you wiped your embarrassingly sweaty brow and took a step back.

“Home sweet home,” you murmured, looking down at all the equipment. Similarly to last time there was everything you’d need to collect plant samples, but the main weight in your pack was the special devices to measure salinity, humidity, pH, and magical concentrations in the cave below. According to the instructions scrawled in your notebook, they only had to be left in the environment for thirty seconds before being hauled up. 

…Which was what the coil of rope was for. It split in the end like a cat o’ nine tails, allowing all of the metres to be tied up and sent down together. Although the metres were top-line, probably hand crafted by Undyne and her creepy claws, you didn’t want to expose them to the surface environment for too long.

Vi had crept up, silly sunglasses still on, “What’s the plan.”

“Let’s collect samples first, twenty five conifer and twenty five broad leaf. We’ll do the measurements last.”

“If you ask me,” Vi said, already scooping up her share of materials, “It feels kinda… wrong? For us to go down there? Or even _near_ down there, what if we get trapped?”

You smiled grimly, “Well, we’d be fine, remember? Our souls would be strong enough to get through the barrier _if_ there was even one left.”

“They killed people didn’t they? To get out?”

“I don’t think they had a choice.”

For a moment you both stared into the seemingly infinite darkness of the cave before getting to work, eager to think of anything but the years of anguish trapped in that chasm.

The work was easy, and being the same procedure as before, you were potting up the last sample an hour ahead of schedule. 

“Okay, you lower the meters down and I’ll get everything packed up.”

Vi was already scooping up sample pots clumsily. Swearing, she disappeared into the foliage to catch one that’d bounced out of her grasp and into the undergrowth. You were left to enter the beast's mouth alone. Reluctantly, you approached the lip of the cave, nudging the meters over the edge with your foot.

You stepped back, eager to feel the sun beating on your back. As you lowered the meters down into the depths of your cave, every hair on your body stood on end. Something was there.

_Paranoia, that was all_

_Just because you were paranoid didn't mean there wasn't something **wrong** with such a suffocating darkness_

The rope went taught, something pulling it so hard you stumbled. Senses heightened by the wave of fear that crashed into you, you let the rope rip through your hands fast enough to burn. Some ancient part of your brain shrieked at you to stop holding onto that fucking rope.

_God oh god something was really coming._

The voice echoed so badly you could hardly make out what it crooned.

“Thanks for the rope! I’ve been stuck here for aaaAAAAAaaages~”

For once in your entire life, you did something sensible.

You let it go.

It followed the rock into the dark at a speed impossible for gravity alone. Whipping so quickly into the dark, it looked like a forked tongue retreating into the mouth of a serpent. You almost fell back as you scrambled desperately from the cave to Vi, who was staring at you hard. Even with the novelty sunglasses, you could tell she was sick of your shit.

“Alms?”

You were frozen.

“Yes?”

You couldn’t take your eyes off the cave mouth, just waiting for whatever tried to tug you down to appear.

“Did you just drop that specially-made equipment down the gigantic hole?”

“LoOkS LiKe It, Vi.”

Vi stepped forward, nudging her glasses down her nose. It wouldn’t take an empath to tell you were freaking out, but after years of dealing with your various neuroses she could tell when you were spooked by something real or something real to _you_.

“Have a drink, Alms,” she quietly commanded, and you sipped at the water slowly. You couldn’t drag your eyes off the cave entrance.

“They can get their fucking measurements. We’re not coming here again,” you insisted.

“Alma, if it freaks you out I’ll do it.”

“Vi, there is something in there that can fucking talk. We are _not_ going to drag whatever they deliberately left behind to the surface.”

Thinking you were off the deep end but also not wanting to upset you, Vi just nodded and finally took a step back, and you released a deep breath. Since your scramble had overturned one of the bags, you started repacking everything in awkward silence. 

“They can get their own samples,” Vi said suddenly, stuffing her field notebook into her already full bag.

“So we don’t have to fetch the apparatus?” You asked hopefully.

“Pffft, no way! They’re lucky we’re out here on the LoRd’S dAy.”

“Jesus wasn’t crucified for this,” you smiled gratefully at her, slinging the overstuffed backpack on.

“He’s offended,” Vi added helpfully.

“Let’s get back home and worship him by doing fuck all.”

This seemed to delight Vi so much she near skipped the entire way home just to fall asleep in the passenger seat.

 

Luckily, with Violeta out of action for near the entirety of Saturday, you had time to find a pattern online and fish your crochet hooks and hoop out of your box of crafting supplies. A quick trip to the art supply shop and three hours of mumbled swearing later, you had three little crocheted bees with smiley faces. Magnets were tucked inside them, making them the best fridge magnets you’d ever seen.

Not to toot your own horn or anything.

You’d been working on the present for Rus for a while. With the spare green fabric, you’d made a miniature gharial pattern, the difficult legs replaced by twisty black pipe cleaners with feet shaped at the end. He was _magnificent_.

Was that was Doctor Frankenstein felt when he saw his completed creation?

Wishing you’d reapplied your suncream before setting off in the midday sun, you walked the slightly more familiar route to the skeleton brothers’ house. You still felt horridly out of place in your ‘well loved’ jeans and open plaid shirt in such an imposing neighbourhood. Now it was daylight and you weren’t having a meltdown; you took a moment to look at the other houses. Each was similarly imposing, but of a wildly different style. One was set in the middle of a gigantic pond, somehow floating over the surface of the water. When you stopped to look, you spotted hundreds of fish sheltering under the shadow of the building.

Reluctantly, you moved on, not wanting to look like you were scoping the house out to steal. After making your way up the cobbled path to the front door. The magnets- stuck to the card you’d picked up at the art shop with purposefully weak glue- were getting gross and damp from your nervous sweat. The gharial was tucked in your backpack for later.

As you weighed up the pros and cons of just pushing them through the letterbox and running, the latch on the door clicked open, and it swung open ominously. You froze, looking at the floor for shadows or the reflections of a certain smartass’ eyelights, but saw nothing. 

Maybe monster doors just did that?

You poked so gently, like a mother cat bopping her child on the head, and the door flew back with a colossal bang. Jumping a good few feet in the air, you crouched, shaping your free hand into the most pathetic excuse for claws you’d seen outside of, well, anywhere.

“HOW LONG WERE YOU PLANNING TO LOITER ON MY DOORSTEP, HUMAN?”

For fucks sake.

“Pardon me. I just wanted to check that you were home.”

Even in casual attire he was intimidating. Sans strutted down the length of the hall, metacarpals clicking against the tile, “YOU WERE ATTEMPTING TO BREAK AND ENTER? LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO MY DOOR.”

Yes, your tiny poke had sent the steel-reinforced, siege-proof door flying. Totally wasn’t magic. 

_Be polite._

“I literally gave it the tiniest tou-“

Sans sighed, rolling his violet eyelights, “YOU HUMANS CAN’T TAKE A JOKE. WAIT, THAT’S NOT TRUE, YOUR COMPANION VIOLETA HAS FANTASTIC TASTE. IT’S JUST YOU. COME IN, HAVE SOME TEA.”

“Vi is very funny,” you agreed carefully, hesitating at the threshold before stepping out of the land of reasonable conversation and civility, “That’s what I came for.”

“IS SHE STILL SICK? UNDYNE WOULD BE THE PERSON TO ASK- SHE’S DONE EXPERIMENTS ON HUMANS BEFORE.”

You loved being reminded of your position as potential experimental subject!

Luckily you’d opted for some canvas shoes, a relief after a morning of wearing heavy walking boots, so you didn’t lose too much ground kicking them off before scuttling after Sans. The house was so big and the corridors so windy, it would be easy to get lost. 

“She’s on the tail-end of her hangover, but that’s not what I’m here for.”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE? SCOPING THE PLACE OUT?”

You withheld the urge to roll your eyes, “No, really, I just wanted to say thank you for helping us on Friday.”

He’d been leading you in circles, past the huge painting of some ancient battle- you tried to spot humans in it when you walked past- and through a narrow archway, back along a tiled hall to the painting. 

“I TOLD YOU, IT WAS MY DUTY. DO YOU THANK THE CASHIER AT THE SUPERMARKET FOR SIMPLY DOING THEIR JOB?”

“Yes?”

“GOOD. THAT IS POLITE, BUT I DO NOT NEED SUCH SIMPLE PLATITUDES.”

Getting a little too confident, you took the familiar turn into the arch too sharply and banged your shoulder. Sans appeared behind you suddenly, close enough that you could hear the brush of his bony palm over his skull.

The smirk in his voice was obvious, “ARE YOU SURE _YOU_ HAVEN’T HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK?”

“Sans, I’m here to give you _this_ card and _these_ magnets as thanks for walking us home. If you don’t want them, I’ll go.”

His eyelights bore into your hand.

It seemed an eternity, him staring at the bee, before he deftly took the card and magnets from you.

“COME INTO THE KITCHEN, I’VE BREWED SOME COFFEE.”

He turned around, and you continued to follow him. The scent of coffee was almost overpowering when he pushed the door open- just how much did he make.

Unlike the rest of the house, which was built for… intimidation, the kitchen was not nearly as grand but twice as homely. There were three gigantic cafetières on the counter, the coffee stewing inside black as night. Instead of fancy crockery, the open shelves held various photographs of Sans and Papyrus. The earliest was tinted sepia, and Papyrus barely reached Sans’ un-scarred zygomatic arch. 

How old were they?

“MY FIRST DAY OF TRAINING,” Sans popped up beside you, making you jump a foot. He looked pleased with himself, “I WAS SO EXCITED TO GET STARTED.” 

“You look very proud,” you agreed, eyes drawn to the gangly skeleton next to Sans- who looked imposing even then.

“OF COURSE. WOULDN’T YOU BE?” He huffed, “I DON’T SUPPOSE THINGS MATTER AS MUCH ON THE SURFACE.”

You raised an eyebrow, “How do you mean?”

“YOU’RE NOT DOING THIS RESEARCH FOR ANYONE ELSE REALLY, ARE YOU?”

The kindling of anger sparked to life in your gut, “You’re getting a tad presumptuous, aren’t you?”

Before you could improvise a weapon from a picture frame and a sugar cube, there was a creaking in the hallway, and Sans appeared on the other side of the kitchen. He winked, grin huge, and just started pouring coffee as a frazzled Papyrus entered the kitchen. 

“sup bro.”

“GOOD AFTERNOON, BROTHER. COFFEE?”

“only if you let me have sugar.”

Sans shrugged, “NOBODY’S STOPPING YOU.”

Papyrus padded over to the counter you were leaning on, rubbing his eyes with his hands. Finally, two feet away from you, he registered your presence by jumping and nearly smacking you in the face had it not been for your supreme agility. Like a cat who’d just fallen off of the counter, Papyrus composed himself like nothing had ever happened.

“alms, i didn’t hear ya come in.”

You tried your best not to, but seeing Papyrus jump into the air like a possessed puppet made you cackle. Covering your mouth with one hand, you passed the sugar pot over to him and waved meekly.

“Hello there.”

Cheekbones dusted purple, Papyus stomped over to his brother, whose shoulders were shaking silently with laughter.

“YOU ARE THE EMBODIMENT OF GRACE, BROTHER.”

“ya both snakes.”

“Hiss.”

He turned to you, still clutching the sugar, a look of absolute disgust on his face.

“couldn’t come up with anythin’ better?”

“He’s the funny man, supposedly, I just like science,” you replied.

Sans shook his head, “DISGRACEFUL TO SPEAK OF THE HOST IN SUCH A WAY IN THEIR HOME.” He threw his hand towards the window, “YOU HAVEN’T EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED MY GARDEN.”

“You have a lovely garden?”

“I KNOW. I’VE SPENT ALL YEAR PLANNING FOR IT. COME PAPYRUS, HUMAN, GET YOUR COFFEE. WE ARE GOING TO GO ON AN AFTERNOON POMEGRANATE.”

You looked to Papyrus who simply shrugged, a little sheepish, “it’s a cool word.”

After being given a mug of coffee- simultaneously their ‘LEAST DESIRABLE MUG’ and ‘MORE VALUABLE THAN ANY MUG YOU’D EVER OWNED’- you followed Sans into the blinding sunshine.

The garden was lush and full of life. Pollen-heavy bees bumped clumsily against each other as they raced towards un-plundered flowers. The victor crawled into the lavender tube, stripy bum exposed as she drank all she could. Her hairy legs were already packed with pollen, but she still tried to stuff some more on.

“WHAT ARE THEY? THE STRIPY ARTHROPODS?” Sans pointed towards a bee who was black save for a bright orange rump.

The voice of your entomology lecturer echoed in your mind, “It’s a red-tailed black bumblebee. A female, if I remember correctly. No, no, it can’t be, they’re a European species…”

“but it’s orange?”

“Hm?”

“it has an orange end, not red,” Papyrus pointed out, eyelights following the bee as it continued to feed.

“Oh, that happens a lot. Six hundred years ago there wasn’t a word for orange in Europe, so they just called it red. It’s the same with robins.”

“FOOLISH HUMANS,” Sans shook his head, but his tone was mildly amused. Obviously that part of your nature was too minor to be threatening.

He pointed a skeletal phalange at a wasp perched on a leaf, waiting for an opportunity to drink between much bigger bumblebees, “AND THAT FELLOW?”

“She is a wasp, I don’t know what kind though.” 

Wanting to distract from your failure as an insect nerd, you motioned to a hoverfly flitting between Sans and Papyrus’ heads. It was admirable really, trying to keep you out of its territory despite weighing a tenth of a gram. 

“That’s a hoverfly,” you said, trying to follow its motion with your finger, “See how it looks like a wasp? It has evolved like that because the wasp has a sting to keep attackers away from the nest. If it looks like a wasp, predators will not want to eat it because they think it is also a wasp. It’s called Batesian mimicry.”

“COWARD.”

“Pardon?”

Sans motioned at the little fellow with pure contempt, “It cannot defend itself, so it mimics its enemies.”

“bro, it’s literally a fly.”

“Don’t you think that’s clever though?” You insisted.

His sneer remained for a moment before shifting into an easy grin, “IT TAKES CUNNING TO BE A COWARD I SUPPOSE.”

You continued the guided tour, Sans pointing out some more interesting Underground flora, and you peppering in facts about the birds you could hear singing and the invertebrates going about their day in the undergrowth. At some point Papyrus swapped your mug with his, probably while you were losing your shit at the sight of a blue jay, and stole your coffee. When you looked back in abashment, he just sent a wink your way, dodging your playful slap.

Sick of your obvious weakness, Sans bid you farewell to go jogging while you ‘CONTINUED TO LOITER’ with Papyrus.

“Is he actually going?” You asked quietly as Sans disappeared from the sunshine into the shadow of the house.

“probably not,” Papyrus shrugged, summoning an honestly _mesmerising_ violet tongue to collect the final sludgy drips of sugar and coffee, like an armadillo eating ants, only more gross.

“I, uhm-“

_Oh God._

“I need to talk to you about something private. Is there anywhere…” You trailed off, palms sweaty, knees week and arms heavy.

Papyrus blinked at you before motioning towards the house with his head, “my room, he never snoops there.” 

You followed, shivering when you left the hot sun for the relative cold in the house, as Papyrus lead you through the kitchen and up the grand staircase. He motioned to a door opposite his in the hall.

“head in, i need to brush my teeth.”

“You don’t brush your teeth as soon as you wake up?”

“no, no, i do, just… needta do it again.” Papyrus closed the door quickly, and liking the exposed feeling in the hallway, you poked the ajar door fully open.

His room smelled of cigarettes and hot chocolate despite the windows being flung open. The laundry basket was overflowing, vomiting dirty clothes across the floor, and the bedding was bunched at the bottom of the mattress. You swore you could feel your eye twitching, desperate to put a load on and give it a good hoover before taking another step inside. Desperately, you clung onto the neurotic.

There were real reasons to fear a man’s room, after all.

The only hint of order in the entire bombsite was his desk. Markers and pencils were organised by colour and medium into huge acrylic gridded pots. The shelves beneath the slanted desktop were clear, stuffed full of paints and paper and… were those white chocolate kit-kats? You cautiously took a step forward, toes curling when they brushed past a crumpled shirt.

“that’s not my real stash, jus’ a decoy.”

You whirled around, hands on your chest, “Christ, Rus, do you like scaring me?”

He smiled, exposed teeth tugging up, “revenge is sweet.” 

_He was between you and the door._

Carefully, you stepped away from the desk, “Cold 'Rus, cold.”

“says the person who got my bro interested in bugs. he’s gonna be lookin’ at ‘em forever now.”

“Hey,” you couldn’t help but smile, “If I can’t pass on my knowledge what use am I?”

You took another step and Papyrus did the same, both of you moving clockwise across some invisible point in the ground. Now _you_ were closer to the door you let your shoulders drop down. 

_If he wanted anything he’d be on you, door or no door._

Awkwardly, you motioned at the bag, “I have something for you, to say thanks.”

Papyrus chuckled, and the sound stirred something weird in your stomach that took a moment of focus to shut down, “didn’t know my room was so impressive.”

“Ha, you’re hilarious,” you poked your tongue out before reaching into the bag, “Close your eyes.”

“ya not gonna mace me, right?”

“Mace works on skeletons?”

“dunno, don’t wanna find out.”  
"Wait. why would I _mace_ you?"  
"dunno, humans."

Carefully, you pulled the gharial out of your bag and took a step forward. 

Your hands were shaking at the same frequency as his-

_His hands were shaking?_

You knew some basics about souls, and by basics literally just that human souls were hugely more powerful than monster souls, theoretically because they were ‘sealed’and no energy was lost by performing magic. If you could bring yourself to hurt Papyrus, you could do serious damage.

_Didn’t mean he wasn’t aching to hurt you._

Impulsively, you reached out and took his hand, turning over his worn bones so his palm was facing up. The mere motion summoned a wave of nausea to roll through you, but you ignored it and focused on the buzzing bone under your fingers.

“heh, is, uh, this the surprise? can i look now?”

“It would be a shit surprise,” you snorted, awkwardly straightening out the pipe-cleaner legs with one hand, the other still holding Papyrus’.

“it’d be good.”

So preoccupied with the unruly legs, which’d scrunched up during the walk over, you didn’t hear him. Finally, you accepted defeat, and rested the underbelly of the beast on his open palm. As his fingers closed around it you withdrew your hand, “Okay, you can open them now.”

He opened his creepy bone eyelids and looked down, obviously confused. You rocked on your feet, readying yourself for the ultimate crafting embarrassment- the recipient not being able to tell what the gift fucking _was_.

“Oh, it’s-“

“you made me a gharial? with pose-able legs?”

You grinned, clapping your hands together in TRIUMPH, “Yes! Exactly! Oh my god, I was so worried you wouldn’t get it!” 

“how could i? this is awesome,” Papyrus grinned, carefully bending the legs so they were out from under the body, “he’ll be my desk buddy.”

After the new desk buddy underwent major reconstruction, Papyrus placed him carefully next to the tubs of markers.

“Are you going to name him?”

Papyrus laughed again, and your heart jumped unhelpfully, “guess i ‘ave to. what’s his big brother named?”

Your own gharial? “He’s named Arugula like the vegetable.”

“hm, what’s the french word for that weird testicle fruit?”

You shot him a confused look and he waved his hand in front of him, “i’m not bein’ weird, promise. y’know, the dark green bumpy one with the rock in the middle.”

“Oh, avocados? It’s ‘avocat’ in French.”

“avocat he is then.”

You moved to the desk, giving Avocat a last stroke along the snout, “I’ll have to bring Arugula over- he gets lonely.” Lubomir lived in the lab, and you couldn’t bring another huge cuddly toy in without getting hell from Vi.

“we’d love to have you.”

Papyrus’ voice came from much closer than expected _far too close_. You spun around, back to the desk, and he was stood just over a foot away. It was hard not to notice his height, but when he was so close it was impossible to ignore how far back you had to tilt your head to look him in the eye.

His gold fang glinting told quiet tales of violence.

Your heart was fluttering, but not in the nice way. Trying to keep control of your breathing, you looked up at his eyelights. They glowed brighter than usual, highlighting his orbits in violet.

He leaned forward.

_Why were you tearing up? This was what the films and the books and your friends told you you wanted._

**M a y b e t h a t ‘ s w h a t h e w a n t s y o u t o t h i n k.**

Suddenly, your phone burst into life, making you both shout in shock. You pulled your phone out with shaky hands and answered without checking the caller ID- it wasn’t like anyone but Vi or Papyrus called you anyway.

“Hey, Alms, I need your help with something. I got my tights stuck in the hoover-“

“Oh, an emergency in the lab? I’m coming over, close the door, don’t let the sample out of the cupboard!”

“What the fu-“

“It’ll be okay Vi, keep the wound elevated, but keep your back against the door.”

You terminated the call, tossing your phone into the tote and pushing past Papyrus while he was still dazed from you near screaming down the phone.

“everythin’ alright? sans’ll show you a shortcut if ya need to get there-“

“Sorry, a raccoon got loose! Thanks for the offer ‘Rus, but I better run over. If I shock her the… bleeding will get worse?”

Thankfully, Papyrus accepted your lie without much question, and followed as you near ran down the stairs to the shoe rack.

“Say thanks to your brother for me!” You called over your shoulder as you flung open the door, “Take good care of Avocat!”

“alma, wait, stars, i’ll call you a taxi-“

By the time he got to the front door you were sprinting down the road, too scared to look behind you and see whether anyone was following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's not my best, but it has interaction with the core pals, so I consider it alright. Let me know what you think and have a safe and happy day. 
> 
> I'm moving to the US for my university year abroad on the 18th so wish me luck. I'm planning on writing a/some one off short thing/s when I'm on the plane/in hotels before I move into my accommodation so let me know what you'd like to see! It can be on a timeline completely unrelated or whatever, so suggest anything!


	14. Decay

You’d never seen such a strange collection.

In your profession people got _obsessed_. It was difficult to find somebody who liked what they liked a ‘normal’ amount and could still spend six nights a week asleep in their office, lest they waste time in traffic or talking to their children. In Cornwall there was a catfish collector, in Calais a caterpillar curator with walls hidden by boxes and boxes of pinned samples.

Undyne’s took the cake though.

The shelves of her office, which were getting a good going over by yourself and Vi as you tried to avoid looking at each other and getting the giggles, were full of jars. At first glance, it looked like samples of dirt from the exact same site.

All the same dull grey.

All fine powder, like flour. 

It took an hour later that afternoon, you sat in the lab analysing results while petting Lubomir absentmindedly, to realise it was dust.

Dust from every organism in the entire underground, perhaps.

It was feasible- after so long trapped, most large or flamboyant species had been hunted for trophies or had their habitats destroyed by the expansion of the main monster settlements. Organic matter had grown there initially, according to a dusty old monster textbook Vi had found in a second hand shop, but as time went on only those with a pure-magic metabolism could survive without starving. 

This had all been done post-meeting. No, what really captured your attention when you walked into her office was the human thorax and abdomen articulated and labelled carefully in the corner. 

Undyne had caught you staring, chortling as she locked the door behind her, “The skull is kept in the palace- you’ll see it at the next Freedom Day festival.” Something turned wistful in her expression, a long, black nail trailing over the curve of a rib, “Yes, this was the Purple Soul. Stupid creature.”

You and Vi both made polite hums of acknowledgement, shooting each other a glance before Undyne settled in the high-backed chair on the other side of her desk. She looked at you like _prey_.

“How was the data sampling? Pleasant? Any injuries?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Vi spoke.

“It went well, thank you-”

“Want to know what makes me just…giggle?” Undyne interrupted, pupils thinner than pennies.

“We collected more broad leaf and coniferous samples as instructed?” You guessed.

“I wasn’t FINISHED.”

The force of her shout practically pinned you and Violeta back against your seats. 

Like it was never there, her look of absolute rage was replaced by a big, cheesy grin. Her breath was so rancid you had to actively fight against gagging, trying to tuck your head into the familiar-smelling cloth of your lab coat.

Her claws tapped on the hardwood of her desk slowly, rolling from digit to digit, “Knock knock, as it goes.”

Vi hesitantly added, the cringe audible, “…Who’s there?”

“Scientific instruments.”

Now it was your turn to near shit yourself, “Scientific instruments who?”

“Now, they wouldn’t knock would they? Because you LOST THEM!”

Yes, the inevitable. Your insides were turning inside out inside of your gut like a possessed sock. As much as you wanted to fight, you knew deep down you’d fucked everything up. The whole wretched affair with Papyrus had clouded the implications of your slip up last night, but in the clear light of day you knew you were screwed.

“Those instruments were worth more than your entire LIFE, and let it be known, if you were monsters, I’d DUST YOU AND MAKE YOU INTO A PROTEIN SHAKE.”

Her claws had dug deep into the desk, following grooves already carved into the desk undoubtedly from thousands of other now-dead intern problems.

“And if you weren’t protected with a shield of bureaucracy, I’d smear your brains across the ceiling-”

“But there was something!” Vi interrupted, clutching the armrests of her own chair, “There was something in that cave!”

Undyne sneered, lips pulling back across bright red gums, “No magic-reliant organism was left in that cave after the Core imploded, you ignorant FOOL.”

“But it spo-“

“We heard an animal down there and we made a mistake,” you interrupted firmly, “But we will fix it.”

Violeta shot you a look but thankfully kept her mouth shut.

“You won’t have the time,” Undyne insisted, a malicious gleam in her eye, “I’ve already written to the Queen. I will not be associated with you.”

She broke into a stream of giggles, cradling her head, coinciding bald patches where her claws lay. Even the three brain cells yourself and Violet shared knew not to interrupt her fit of mania.  
“I _told them_. I _looked over the files myself and told them you’d be useless._ ”

“Useless?” Vi asked, gripping the armrests of her chair as she leant forward. Apparently you’d been hogging the slither of common sense you shared, “We’ve been working on our research, which is going really well, and consulting on this project! You were happy with our work last Friday!”

Undyne leapt forward so quickly you jumped back, chair teetering dangerously before you grabbed onto the desk to steady yourself. She was unbearably close now. You were sure your heart stopped when one of her deadly claws raked over your knuckle accidentally.

“HOW DARE YOU TALK BACK TO ME?”

It was like time had stopped. Violet was frozen in place, eyes almost completely shut, Undyne’s claws were fully entrenched in the wood of the desk, and you were stuck between vomiting and shitting yourself.

“If you speak another word I’ll rip your tongue out,” she whispered, crawling back to her prior position jerkily, like an early 2000’s flash animation.

“I'm writing to Queen Toriel, sending the letter this evening. If I were you, I’d get packing,” Undyne grinned cheerfully, resting her head on bloodied fingers. One of her claws was left embedded in the wood, but something told you she didn’t want to be reminded.

“Now, leave~”

Uncertainly, you pushed your chair back, gently patting Violeta on the shoulder to get her to follow suit. She followed robotically, mimicking your every movement as you tucked the chair back in and backed out of the office, never turning away from Undyne until the heavy door had closed behind you.

The silence of the walk back to your office was pregnant with unease. Occasionally you’d see other scientists, monsters observing you from behind stacks of textbooks or trays of samples, but Undyne’s screaming was an impressive repellent. Even the receptionist kept his eyes down as you passed, typing slowly at his computer.

By the time you’d locked the door behind you Vi was nearly sobbing.

“Oh my God Alma, they’re going to fucking kill us. That crazy bitch is going to write to the Queen and have us hanged, oh _God_.”

You flicked the kettle on, and leant down slightly, trying not to sound like a complete dick in Bulgarian.

“Vi, take a second. We’re not getting sent back.”

She gestured violently at the door, letting the tears fully flow now the rumbling kettle was masking the sound, “You heard her! She’s the Royal Scientist, she can get whatever she wants!”

Honestly, you felt a little out of place. It was no secret Vi was the more stable between the two of you, but when the going got tough, you had to settle your emotional-tumbleweed roots.

“No she won’t Vi, because I’m going to write a letter to the Queen.”

“And what, Alms, ask about the weather?”

You huffed, “No, I’m going to explain the situation. The Queen wants us here, she jumped through a lot of hoops to get us here, and she’ll realise how badly we want to be here too. A letter from Sea-bitch-it isn’t as important as that.”

“You’re talking shit,” Vi snorted, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. At least she wasn’t crying now. You clumsily pulled her against your side for a second before walking over to Lubomir’s chair.

“Want to hold him while we analyse this data? We're not even going to think about her right now, okay?”

Vi nodded silently, holding her arms out, and the Prince of the office was passed into her arms. You awkwardly curved his posable spine around Vi, allowing Lubomir to hug her back.

“Now, important question.”

She looked up at you, and you managed a smile you hoped looked braver than you felt. You held up two boxes of teabags.

“Green or black?”

…..

 

You put the pen down, picked it up, considered the pros and cons of simply typing out the letter, and then put the pen down again. You were still in the laboratory, door locked and lights off to give the impression you’d left for the night. In what you considered a prime example of human ingenuity, you’d used one of the retort stands and clamp to hold your phone up, creating a lamp when you turned the torch function on. 

Running a hand through your hair, you pulled the paper closer to you. The characters of the Monster language were easy to read but writing them left you paranoid. Did it seem childish? Unprofessional? Was it obvious you were looking at a translation chart, trying to copy the characters exactly? Queen Toriel famously refused any correspondence in human language, and time was of the essence. If Desislava was going to be in Newest Home in time for her and Vi’s anniversary, everything had to be perfect.

Assuming your bid to stay was entertained in the first place.

_Your Majesty,_

_I am Alma DuVaal, a human scientist investigating the possibility of utilising_ Phiddipus audax _venom as a preventative pesticide. Alongside my research partner, Violeta Lazarov, we are attempting to breed plants which produce the venom inside of their leaves, making them impossible for pest species to consume safely. We are also consulting on the zoological and botanical gardens project, and making good research on both._

_As agreed in the research contract, neither Violeta nor myself have left the country; informed family, friends, or journalists about our location; or had any presence on any social media platform. All communications between Violeta and I and humans outside of Newest Home are monitored by a team of your personal appointment. I fully understand the importance of the security of Newest Home, so I do not write to you frivolously._

_On the 23rd of October, Violeta will have been with her mate, Desislava Tsankov for four years. It is traditional to spend such an occasion with the loved one in question. While I understand it is not possible for Violeta to leave Newest Home or the surrounding territories, I ask humbly for your consideration of Desislava coming to a rural location in Newest Home._

_As we have been allowed a vehicle to travel towards the sampling sites on Mt. Ebott, Violeta could collect Desislava in a similar tracked vehicle from the nearest airport. In a rural location, no contact would be made between Desislava and the Monster population. A lack of internet or phone signal also wouldn’t be suspicious in a heavily wooded area. At the conclusion of the weekend, Violeta would drop Desislava at the same airport before returning to Newest Home. Of course, this is a very rough plan, and I’m sure your security council will make additions to ensure security during this visit._

_I am sure Doctor Undyne has informed you of our sampling error. I promise you, if Violeta’s partner is granted permission to visit for the weekend of Friday the 22nd to Sunday the 24th, I will collect any more samples needed from the Underground personally. The data will be given to other consultants by the conclusion of that weekend._

_Hopefully the progress in our own research and our consultancy in the planned zoological and botanical gardens is impressive enough for you to consider my request._

_I have the honour to be, Madam, a visitor to your incredible state._

_Alma DuVaal_

It wasn’t perfect, and that was eating you alive, but no matter how hard you looked you couldn’t find what you needed to fix it. Other rough drafts were spread around you like candles in a seance, but it seemed more likely for the ghost of Charles Dickens to appear than for you to be satisfied.

Your eyes were getting prickly from tiredness; it was unlikely you’d get any more done. After a final check for spelling errors and obvious grammatical mistakes, you carefully folded the letter and slipped it inside a heavy envelope. The weight alone made the stationary nerd in you confident- how could anyone, monster or human, resist such wonderful paper? Using a Bunsen burner in what was a sure health and safety violation, you warmed the wax before pressing the seal you’d nabbed from the communal office into it. It was the familiar Deltarune with ‘The Royal Laboratory’ curled around it. With the messy lettering hidden, and your mind full of fuzz, you’d forgotten what you were worried about. 

At the end of the day, no matter of good wording or proper conduct could convince the Queen to do anything she didn’t want.

Lamp dismantled and first drafts shredded and recycled, you quickly locked the lab up behind you. It was a long way home, and the sky was already dark outside. Luckily, being a Monday, it was unlikely anyone was out partying. You froze in front of the ‘vital correspondence’ steel box on the front desk, all sleepy confidence gone. What if it was shit? What if you got in trouble? What if, even worse, Vi did despite knowing nothing about the main query. 

The sound of stirring from Undyne’s lab animal room silenced the nagging, doubtful part of your brain long enough for you to slip the letter inside the tiny slit and escape into the cold night air. You shuddered, tugging your coat tight around you.

_Everyone knows what happens to girls that walk alone at night._

Cringing at the echoes of your loud footsteps, you only sped up, nearly running through the patches of inky black between the streetlights. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back.

_And they don’t even want it._

It was a mistake you always made. The dark had always been comforting to you, a heavy blanket under which the most hideous of beasts could hide. How could you not be drawn to it? It didn’t seem so sweet now as you sprinted down the street, passing by a group of monsters so quickly their shouted words didn’t even register.

_Maybe you wanted it._

You slowed as you entered the main area of the city, aware that fucking hurtling down the road wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. Apparently your heart hadn’t gotten the memo- it still pounded in your chest. Chin tucked town, you focused on the building passing you, each corner turned automatically. 

If only everything could be automatic.

_Freak._

Finally you saw the gates of your tower block, running those last few metres to the gate with your keys in hand. Safe _never safe_ behind the fence, you looked over your shoulder.

Nothing. Of-fucking-course. With your brain freed from fear, it was flooded with annoyance. All of that worrying and energy which could’ve been directed towards salvaging something decent from your fridge or going through those journals you’d brought home had been wasted.

Although you’d wanted to check on Vi when you came back, it was in the early hours of the morning. If she was awake, she’d be talking to Desislava, who’d be a welcome break from all the drama of the day. Quietly, you crept past her floor to your room. 

If you’d been on form, careful, you’d’ve noticed how the slip of paper you kept poking out under the door was gone.

But you weren’t.

Eager to fall asleep and close the door on an overall awful day, you unlocked the door and gratefully stepped inside of your den. Not even glancing towards your bed, you tossed your keys at it once the door was shut behind you. As soon as you stepped into the kitchen, you froze.

You didn’t hear them land, not the soft thud and jingle of them bouncing on the bed, nor the harsh clatter of them hitting the floor.

Heart skipping like a rabbit’s, you carefully rocked your weigh back onto your left foot, the one still in the main room of the flat.

Violet light bounced off of your keys, floating eerily just above the ground.

You tried to scream, but some force was holding your jaw closed. It was deliberate- not enough to threaten breakage of tooth of bone, but enough to ache if you struggled. Sans, hands tucked behind his back, didn’t seem impressed at your feeble attempts to struggle. Finally, the pressure lessened, and you hissed out between gritted teeth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“LANGUAGE. I WAITED OUTSIDE OF YOUR PLACE OF WORK, BUT WHEN YOU HADN’T COME OUT BY 10PM I ASSUMED YOU’D EITHER COME HOME EARLY OR WERE TAKING A DETOUR BEFORE COMING HOME.”

Only God could imagine what filthy string of swears you would’ve shouted had your jaw not been magically sealed shut. Obviously, this was _hilarious_ to Sans.

He snorted, “YOU KEPT ME WAITING.”

Incredulous, you gestured between him and the door wordlessly before you finally controlled your pure r a g e enough to talk. If he caught you any other day, you’d be a modicum less pissed.

“You broke into my flat, Sans! I didn’t ‘keep you waiting’. I’m exhausted, and I want you to leave.”

“OH, I’M AFRIAD I WON’T BE LEAVING.”

“Pardon?”

“I GAVE YOU FAIR WARNING, DID I NOT?”

Genuinely puzzled, you angrily stomped over the door to take off your shoes, “No, you never warned me you’d be such a thorn in my damn side.”

“YOUR PHONE HAS BEEN ON ALL DAY, FUNCTIONING, BUT YOU HAVEN’T RESPONDED TO ANY MESSAGES.”

“How do you have access to my phone?”

“WHY WAS THAT?”

“Answer my question, Sans.” Your voice was as steady and cold as steel but had no effect on the skeleton before you.

“I WILL, ONCE YOU ANSWER MINE.”

Your fingers clenched uncomfortably into fists, nails digging into your palms, “It’s. None. Of. Your. Business.”

“IS IT TO AVOID PAPYRUS, PERHAPS?”

Your face was the picture of shock, mouth hanging open, hands still curled awkwardly into claws. Sans watched, completely neutral, as your brain whirred and stuttered trying to make sense of the utter fucking buffoonery he’d just spouted.

“Oh my _God_.”

He kept quiet.

“I… I can’t believe this?! I had to focus on my work, Sans, which you should be doing instead of fucking stalking me you _weirdo_. It was nothing to do with Papyrus.”

Sans stood, short in comparison to Papyrus, but still a decent amount taller than you with his heeled boots on, “LIAR.”

“Fine,” you snarled, “Even if it was, which it’s _not_ , this is nothing to do with you. Your brother is an adult, and so am I. I want you to leave now.”

“ACTUALLY,” Sans corrected, stepping towards you in his worth-more-than-your-entire-flat boots, “IF PAPYRUS IS UPSET, IT IS.”

“I WARNED YOU ABOUT UPSETTING PAPYRUS, DID I NOT?”

His eyelights dilated.

“UNLESS YOU’RE THAT DESPERATE FOR A B A D T I M E .”

It was like he’d magicked the air out of your lungs. Your ribcage could furl open like the new wings of a butterfly and you wouldn’t be able to breathe. Desperate to stay on your feet, you kept a death-grip on the doorhandle.

“I’LL ASK THIS ONCE, HUMAN. WHY DID YOU RUN OFF YESTERDAY?”

He was too close, close enough for a skeletal hand to reach out and touch your _faceneckchest_ -

You knew if it happened again you’d die. They might not kill you after, but you’d curl up and wither away like a fawn by its dead mother.

**you didn’t want to die**

The thin, delicate thread that’d been holding you together snapped completely.

“Fine,” you hissed, “You want a ‘reason’. I freaked out, Sans. He got close to me and I freaked out because, as _you_ should know, a whole lot of humans _aren’t_ nice.”

“And it’s left me fucking weird. And that’s why I freaked out. And I’m sorry if it hurt Papyrus’ feelings. But I _can’t change_ , I’ve tried so hard I’ve tried everything but nothing works it doesn’t feel any different now than it did then.”

You gestured violently at him, then at the cuddly gharial because it deserved to fucking hear it too.

“You’re not the only one that wishes I was different Sans. Get with the fucking times. Now, if you’d pardon my rudeness, piss off.”

Maybe human emotions _were_ stronger than monster magic, because you ripped the bolt back and flung the door open with ease. For once, there was no grin on Sans’ face, smug or not. He took a deep breath in through his nasal cavity and stepped into the hallway.

“And don’t come back here again,” you near snarled before slamming the door hard enough for your neighbour to pound their powerful fist against the wall. Already sobbing, you shouted back an apology, slinking over to your bed.

You wanted Undyne to send you home.

You didn’t know where home was anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. 14 in already, it's hard to believe. I have a lot planned for 15-17 (and by planned I mean there's something in my head that could be called an idea if you squinted when you looked at it). It's a little rough but I wanted to give you guys something since I've not been handling myself well recently.
> 
> I'm really unsure about whether the characters sound different when they talk? Aside from caps etc, I want to be able to tell who is talking from their mannerisms/tone/dialect alone and I don't think I have it down with Undyne yet.
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	15. Assembly

You’d cleaned the mirror at least ten times now.

It started at 3am, when you’d finished reading and summarising the stack of papers on your desk but still couldn’t get any sleep. You’d picked up your phone, thumbing through your contacts on autopilot and about to send Papyrus some dumb message before coming to and turning it off entirely.

He wouldn’t want to hear it.

So, you cleaned. You’d scoured the bathroom until it looked new, scrubbed at your clothes in the sink, and finally you’d circled back to the long mirror in your bedroom.

You always saved it for last _because you hated looking at yourself_ because it was the easiest job. Just a little spritz of whatever cleaning product was on sale and then mechanical wiping. Soothing, like waves lapping against a ship.

The alarm clock, useful in another universe where you actually got to sleep, rang out proudly and made you drop the rag in shock. For a moment you dithered, but that was all it took for your upstairs neighbour to bang on the floor. Abandoning the dirty cloth, you switched the alarm clock off and gave your startled heart a moment to calm down.

You washed your rag under scalding hot water before slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading down to Vi’s flat. She was getting better- you only had time to check three emails before she popped out, hair wet and smelling of watermelon.

“Morning, Alms.”

“Good morning.”

If she was as exhausted as you she didn’t show it, “I was properly conked out last night. I just sat on my bed and was _gone_.”

“Lucky- it’s like getting to sleep in the middle of a damn rave for me. I can’t even…”

_Stop imagining things hiding in your wardrobe_

“Work on my crochet.”

Vi tilted her head, “You brought your crochet hooks here?”

“Yeah, they didn’t take up much room. I haven’t been able to use them though, I’ve just…” You inched your fingers together like claws. Vi nodded at the recognisable signal- the pinch of futility.

“Don’t get too worried- I haven’t even tried to do anything ~extracurricular~ like that. I just talk with Desi and read shitty books on pdf.”

Ah, a perfect segue from your failure to do anything!

“What’s been your favourite? Or least favourite? Which was the worst?”

She clapped her hands together delightedly, “Oh my god, alright, there’s this one called ‘Jamaican me crazy- isle always love you’.”

For the rest of the walk over you listened to a thrilling synopsis- a woman came to, you guessed it, Jamaica, to find the last known location of her grandfather only to fall in love with the local aloof, stubborn tour guide. It sounded so fucking stupid that you barely noticed yourself pass through familiar doors into the scientific institute.

You’d almost rounded the corner to the labyrinth of hallways and storage cupboards when the receptionist called out after you. He eyed you suspiciously, an ivory envelope held in his hoof.

“Excuse me. There’s a letter here for you-“

“Who from?”

He snorted- an impressive sound given his snout- “If you’d allow me, it’s from Her Majesty’s Office.”

Both of you froze in your tracks. Slowly, Vi turned back to look at you, eyes wide.

“Are you sure?” You asked, voice coming out in a squeak.

Not phased by your second puberty, the receptionist nodded, “I need you to sign for the letter to confirm I’ve given it to you.”

The walk over felt monumental. Violeta stayed frozen, eyes intense on your back as you signed your name on the sheet with a pen made for much larger, three-fingered hands. 

It was like holding an entire world in your hands.

“…should we open it here?” Vi asked, voice barely above a whisper. You shook your head.

“No. Not even the office. Let’s go upstairs.”

After a quick elevator ride (letter hidden under your lab coat- the sight of it was making Vi sick) and a flight of stairs, you were on the roof. It was lined with mostly-empty soil plots for plant research, but at the very end of the building was a shed crammed with equipment, and a green house.

Occasionally, people would come into the shed for potting soil or a trough- why they needed it was another question entirely- so you both squeezed into the stuffy green house. 

The plants in there had been left to run wild, now browning from lack of water despite their impressive size. It was difficult to see out, difficult to see in, and provided enough muffling that somebody passing by, as unlikely as that was, would just hear conversation.

“Can you open it?” Vi asked, eyes huge and staring. She couldn’t take them off the envelope. You nodded, swallowing the stubborn lump in your throat as you teased your thumb under the wax seal.

It smelled of flowers.

You held the letter out, “Do you-“

“Alms I am literally about to freak my shit can you _please_ just tell me what it says.”

Dread settled in your stomach like an anchor, pinning you to the floor. A cold sweat prickled along your back.

“Miss DuVaal…”

_I’d been notified of your mistake. The Royal Scientist came to my residences in the early afternoon before your letter arrived. As she informed me, that equipment was expensive, difficult to develop, and will be troublesome to recreate._

Your heart sank.

_However, I am not concerned such trifle matters. Undyne is my employee, and will do whatever I tell her to, as will **you**._

_I’ve considered your request._

You paused, letter shaking like a leaf between your fingers. The edges of your vision seemed to darken in pulses, like the blood going to your brain was old and stale and oh god you had to get a hold of yourself!

“Alma?”

Vi’s voice was a squeak. The breath you took in was shuddery, but it steeled you enough to continue reading.

“ _Yourself and Miss Lazarov will continue to research here and lend your assistance to the zoological garden project on the condition that you collect missing data as you descri-_ “

As you read your voice got higher and higher. Before you could reach whistle-tones, Vi grabbed you so tightly it was difficult to breathe. She let out a primal scream, one capable of shattering every wall of the greenhouse had it not trailed into sobs. Your body shrieked along, mind detached from the whole event.

You’d really done it.

As Violeta dissolved into weird, half-laugh half-sobs, you cackled back, wrenching her off of yourself with unknown strength so you could look her in the eye. The letter was still clutched in one hand as you forced her to look at you.

“Alms?” She blubbered.

“We ffffuuuuuucking did it.”

Snorting, Vi nodded, putting her hands on each of your elbows, “You… you look like you’re gonna pass out, Alms.”

“It _feels_ like I’m going to pass out.”

Clumsily, you both sat down on two conveniently-upturned plant pots, chests still heaving. Whenever you looked at Vi you’d break down into giggles, sagging into her. Now the tension on your puppet-strings was gone, it was difficult to stand up at all. Your body groaned, struggling against your will as you finally stood up. 

“It feels wrong going to work now,” Vi commented, holding open the greenhouse door, “I feel like getting absolutely pissed.”

“Think of it as a getting-pissed intermission,” you grinned back, “Besides, I want to see how the growth chambers are doing.”

Vi’s face lit up, “Oooh, I almost forgot.”

“That’s the true thrill of the day,” you teased, stepping out of the lift with more pep in your step than the past few weeks combined.

…..

“Are we celebrating?” You asked, letter tucked safely in your backpack. You even flashed a huge grin at the receptionist on your way out, pushing the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Vi’s giggles turned into full on snorts of laughter when you cringed, covering your hand with one mouth as the receptionist sighed tiredly.

“Please, no more vandalism,” he sighed. You squeaked out an apology before Vi tugged you too far down the walkway to yell.

“Of course, genius! We can _stay_. Mайната ти, рибе дама!*”

Even in Bulgarian you worried Undyne would correctly guess the general meaning of Vi’s triumphant yell. Now you were the one pulling her forward, heading down to the town centre. Hopefully Undyne’s shark nose couldn’t sniff out the pride oozing from your companion.

“I’m just so glad it’s over- I’ve aged ten years since the damn cave,” you added, grinning like a fucking maniac at every monster that passed you.

“You don’t look a day over fifty, Alms~”

“You’re making me blush, Vi.”

The second half of the paper undoubtedly laying out the details of Desislava’s visit still weighed on your mind, but there was no way to read it and _not_ spark Vi’s curiosity. She was annoyed enough that you wouldn’t let her take a picture of the letter ‘for prosperity’. The whole day it’d stayed in your inner lab coat pocket, and then in an inside pocket of your backpack you’d sewn in yourself.

Your conversation flitted from topic to topic, both of you too scrambled to keep to anything for more than a few sentences as you homed in on your decided hangout. 

Muffet’s’ sign shone in the night, turning the mist hot pink. 

Vi and you were in there so much the patrons paid you no mind as you slid onto the last two bar stools. 

Your mouth hurt from smiling, a comfortable ache. Obviously you were half-yelling at each other, used to speaking over bustling crowds or heavy machinery, and Muffet was at your side faster than you could say ‘ _Arachnidae_ ,.

“Good evening, girlies. What can I get you?”

“Two spider’s legs, doubles, no actual legs for the vegan” Vi grinned, siding a pile of gold across the table, “And keep the change!”

Muffet’s eyes glimmered as she scooped the money up with her sharp claws. Three spiders, roughly the size of dinner plates, peered curiously as their boss chirped something in a completely unfamiliar language. Vi was grinning stupidly, giggling to herself every now and then.

“Are you sure you’re not a little tired?” You teased, resting your head on your laced-together fingers.

Vi scoffed, grin remaining in place, “Uh, pot, kettle, nice to meet you- you never sleep. Besides, the drinks will perk us up.”

You raised a brow, “That’s how alcohol works now?”

“How _spider legs_ work, honey~” Muffet giggled, reappearing with two drinks. Vi’s was decorated ‘tastefully’ with a bikini-clad dead spider impaled like a 15th century Romanian. Non-plussed, she lifted her glass. You mirrored her action, taking a cautious sip of the drink.

As you tried enjoy the strange, fizzing sensation persisting in your stomach, Muffet cruised by, a spider checking their phone in one of her apron pockets.

“What are you lovely ladies celebrating?”

“Science stuff,” you interjected quickly. Violeta was right to be proud, but Undyne was already pissed off, and you didn’t want news of yourself and Violeta bragging about your support from the Queen to aggravate her any further.

Mandibles clicking, Muffet moved a hand delicately to her mouth as she giggled, “Well, for such good news, I can offer… a 0.5% discount~”

“Wow, really?”

Either Muffet didn’t catch the sarcasm, or decided emptying your pockets was of more importance that reprimanding you for your lack of manners, “Only on orders over 1000G you understand- I do have a business to run.”

“We’ll finish these up first, but thank you,” you said diplomatically, taking another sip of the drink. The fizzing was persistent and strong enough to have you wondering whether you’d swallowed a spider on accident. Vi had no such worries, and was nibbling on a stockinged spider leg when you turned back to her.

Where would you be without her?

“Vi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Somebody has to,” she grinned, raising her glass again before taking a long gulp of it.

Accepting that Vi wasn’t in the mood for the mushy shit, you took another smooth sip of your drink. The flavour was changing from heady violet to a lighter bubble-gum, one so convincing your jaw automatically chewed on nothing.

Vi was a step ahead, putting down the empty glass and motioning at you with her hand.

“Come on,” she grinned, cheeks flushed, “Let’s dance, then we have an excuse to drink some more.”

“It’s a bar, we don’t need an excuse,” you whispered conspiratorially. Seeing how Vi was on a one-way train to hangover land, you pulled the mini doughnut off of the skewer in your drink and handed it over, not minding the powder on your fingers, “Come on, eat this.”

She frowned, “But you didn’t get any spider legs.”

“Vi,” you assured her, “There’s nothing I want to eat less in the world than spider legs with edible hosiery.”

Snorting, Vi tossed the confectionery into her mouth, “You know what? I respect that!”

As she chewed, you fished around for your purse, pulling out two gold coins. Water was free, but Muffet wouldn’t deliver it until next weekend without a little motivation. 

Apparently her ears were finely-tuned- she was at your side before you had the chance to call her over.

“Everything good for you, sugar?”

“Could we have two glasses of water, please?” You asked, handing over the coins. The pleased grin on her face didn’t twitch as she chittered something to the spiders behind the counter. Masses of spiders formed a ‘coaster’, carrying over two glasses of water. 

You quickly lifted the two up, giving the tiny waiters a chance to escape without being crushed.

“Is that straight-up vodka? Alma, you’re crazy,” Vi grinned, taking one from you and sniffing it, “The purer it is, the less you can smell it.”

“No, you turnip, it’s _water_. Boдa,” you corrected, taking a sip. You couldn’t keep Vi from getting shitfaced, but you could try and cushion her inevitable hangover, make tomorrow a little easier on her _and_ yourself.

Vi took another sniff, face scrunching up suspiciously, “If you say so, you… _you_ …”

“slippery snail?”

She slammed her fist down on the bar, nearly killing one of the waiters (who artfully leaped out of the way), “Yes! Correct!”

Mind numbed by sheer exhaustion- and whatever was in that purple potion- you turned to face whoever thought it was polite to just shunt themselves into your conversation. Apparently, Vi still considered you too suspicious to warn you.

Papyrus towered over you as you sat on the bar stool. Your brain was obviously on its smoke break since all you could do was watch the unlit cigarette between his teeth wobble as he spoke. A surge of adrenaline stuck you to the seat more surely than screws, no matter how much you wanted to grab Vi and run.

“you alright, alma?”

It was too much. You could only process one major happening at once. The letter from the Queen- and all implications that came with it- was still heavy in your bag. 

“Can we… have a talk outside for a second?”

No point putting it off. If you stayed inside for much longer you’d be sick all over him- the walls crept closer and receded rhythmically like the tide.

_You used to wonder if you were dying._

_Nights spent, the weight of a stranger pushing down onto you, breaths short and raspy._

_Would it be so bad if you did?_

“one sec, need to get somethin’.”

Muffet crossed the bar to your skeletal companion in the blink of an eye, grin wide and pockets newly emptied into the till.

“Big spender,” Vi mumbled into her drink, making you smile despite how it felt your heart would give out at any moment.

“Why, hello, Papyrus~ I haven’t seen you for…” she glanced at the gigantic clock, half hidden by boughs of flowers clotted with spiders-web, “Eighteen hours.”

“hey muff. got two hot chocolates?”

Her grin was so wide it made her mandibles look tiny, “Anything for my _favourite_ customer.”

You looked to Vi for some support, but her big eyes just bore into you. Clearly, she wasn’t going to make any convenient conversation.

“How have you been?”

_Time to go and jUmP oFf A bRiDgE._

The studs on his jacket glinted like stars in the light as he shrugged, “’m alright.”

“He’s been here every night this week~” Muffet hummed, sliding two mugs across the counter.

“still sharp, muff,” Papyrus said, taking one mug in his gloved hand and motioning towards the other with his head, “'s yours.”

Oh.

Awkwardly, you fumbled your wallet out of your bag and scooped up the last gold coins in its little zippered compartment.

“Can you make sure…”

“Oh, of course dearie, I’ll keep your friend well looked after~” Muffet trilled happily, taking your money with one hand and pushing the mug into your free hand with the other.

Happy Vi was set up safely at the bar, and knowing Muffet would keep her out of harms way with the small stash of gold you’d given her, you walked after Papyrus into the cold night air. It made your hairs raise and your head clear.

Even stood outside the bar, mandible lit eerily in the neon light, you weren’t scared of him.

…Not physically, anyway.

“about sunday-“

“Papyrus,” you interrupted, your hand help up to stop it shaking in the cold air, “This is hard for me to say, and I need to get it out all at once.”

You wanted to be back in France, speaking your mother tongue with wonderful words for every kind of pain you knew, not in a foreign language that made your jokes stale and your emotions childish and insignificant.

Thankfully, he listened, eyelights brightening in the shadows of his sockets.

_Oh Christ_.

“I think I like you?” Your voice cracked like a teenage boy’s, and it was just your luck that there was no traffic you could _throw yourself into_.

“I know I like you. I just… get scared.”

Never mind- you wouldn’t be able to have this conversation in English or French or fucking Mandarin-Chinese. 

He could’ve been a statue, the way he stood and watched as you rambled, eyes flickering up to him before darting to the ground/the road/the sky when it felt like a tonne of pressure boring into you.

Heart pounding louder than your voice, you took a deep breath, ready to continue your rambling, but a light pressure on your shoulder threw a spanner into the whirring cogs of your brain. His gloved- hand held onto you gently, and your heart skipped uncertainly in your chest.

_The bird didn’t know a caring hand from a cruel one-  
so it fluttered in the cage regardless._

“i like you too.”

Now it was your turn to just stare at him?

_Huh?_

“an’ for now, that’s all that matters, right?”

His hand was still on your shoulder, grounding you. 

You were in Newest Home, freezing your ass off and getting first degree burns on your hand clutching your mug like it was the last thing anchoring you to Earth.

Nowhere else.

Despite it all, the person curled up inside you screaming, _begging_ for you to turn tail and head inside, delete his number from your phone, you smiled.

“I suppose so.”

He watched, brow raised, as you shuffled around until your shoulder grazed the leather of his jacket. Even that simple touch sent crackles of electricity. After a moment, his arm shifted around your shoulders, pulling you a tad closer. With the same delicacy of a leaf drifting from its home to the pavement, you rested your head on his surprisingly warm shoulder.

From this close, you could hear a soft buzzing, the thrum of a soul not encased in layers of flesh.

The hot chocolate was cold by the time you untangled yourself to head inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Fuck you, fish lady!  
> *Water
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this one guys, I hope you liked it.
> 
> Part of me feels like the big 'confession' (if you could even call it that) scene was anticlimactic after so much buildup, but Reader is so emotionally... odd that whenever I tried to write something bigger it just didn't feel right? Let me know what you think, and have a nice, safe day.
> 
> As a side note, I have an idea of three little oneshot things I might write to supplement this, which I'll let you know about on one of these chapters if/when I post them.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, and hopefully for everyone I'll be able to write more soon. Just in case anyone skimmed over the tags, you/Alma is a victim of sexual assault, and that theme will be explored in a depth that could trigger people. I will update the tags as I go along, and if I think a chapter is especially troubling I'll forewarn everyone at the start and write a catch-up at the beginning of the next one. 
> 
> A little bit of nice skeleton wish fulfilment never hurt anybody though :) This is heavily inspired by Potatochisp's (@potatochisssp on tumblr) swapfell interpretation, so head over if you like some quality characterisation! Thank you for reading.


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